The Unspoken
by Robrafgon
Summary: The Lone Wanderer has left the Capital Wasteland. But what about those still there? What fallout do they experience from her absence? From the chaos she wrought before her disappearance? DC experiences a power struggle the likes of which it has never felt before. It's time for answers. Where did she go? Why did she leave? And what happened at Paradise Falls?
1. Prologue

_New story! Exciting isn't it? What we have here should be about 10 chapters. It's part of my larger Fallout series that begins in "Shattered Illusions". "The Unspoken" fills in a little what happens in DC after the Lone Wanderer leaves, it also gives some crucial back story for upcoming parts of my Fallout series, AND it serves to introduce a new OC of mine. A new OC who may or may not stumble into Fallout 4 once I finish the thing. But I ramble. Please, read and enjoy, it's lovely to have you all here._

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The history of the world is never spoken. The rocks and stones have no mouths to speak. They cannot tell a listener what has transpired. But all the same they carry the story of everything that's transpired around them. The signs of history are written in the dirt, but are unintelligible to the common man. They are mere vagaries, hinted at, but never fully understood. Vagaries written in the sand and grit of the world, swept away by the wind before they can be read.

The history of the Capital Wasteland is written like this. In bombed out buildings, in rusted out cars, and the skeletons of the dead. They all have a story they're yearning to tell, but alas they cannot. Instead they are forced to exist, always remembering. Remembering with no one to share their memories with. Remembered in the radioactive dirt of the Wasteland. Scuffed under boot, stained with blood, and thrown into the air to be carried across the desert.

The history in the dirt, flying from one locale to the next, witnessing more and more to add to its silent archive. The downtrodden and beaten slaves of Paradise Falls, the bloodthirsty raiders of Evergreen Mills, the elites of Tenpenny Tower. All fall under the silent scrutiny of the world. All their secrets and hidden horrors observed and yet immediately concealed. The world will always know even as its inhabitants continue on blissfully unaware.

The dirt remembers.

The dirt remembers as one small bare foot after the other leaves bloody footprints across the desert as its owner resolutely marches onwards. Never looking back, never wanting to look back. One foot after the other across the desert.

The same dirt is lifted by the breeze and thrown in flurries into the eyes of a sniper. A sniper perched on a battered lawn chair atop a mighty wall. A mighty wall scoured and scratched by the wind and the dust. The radioactive grit is thrown into his eyes and he is forced to squint even as he wants to open his eyes wider as motion out in the wide expanse of the desert catches his eyes.

"The hell is that?" Stockholm muttered.

The ever vigilant watchman of Megaton scrubbed at his eyes with a dirty gloved hand, but the dirt was everywhere even in his tower.

"Son of a bitch," he grumbled, trying to clear his vision. He blinked furiously, wetting his suddenly dry eyeballs and pressed the scope of his rifle to his face. The world jumped forward as his view was magnified. But the dust was ever present. Something was stumbling around in the dim, half-light of dusk, but he couldn't tell what. The damnable dirt was being whipped about by the wind and he couldn't get a bead on the figure walking towards the gates.

Stockholm knew his mandate. Protect the city. Dangers were kept afar and never allowed closer than his range of fire. Raiders and slavers were put down from half a mile away. But…

He had no way of knowing who this was and he wasn't going to chance a lethal shot if someone might be innocent. Just one figure out in a dust storm? Could be some junky raider high out of his mind. It could be a feral ghoul limping its irradiated corpse towards its next meal. Or it could be someone who he'd regret putting a bullet in. Someone who would _make_ him regret putting a bullet in them. And he wasn't going to risk that ever again.

She'd made him pay plenty the first time.

But she was long gone.

Stockholm lifted himself from his chair, tearing his eyes away from the figure who was steadily growing closer to the city. He crossed to the back of his tower so he could lean over the railing and look into the town below.

"Lucas," he hollered down at the top of a cowboy hat wearing head. "LUCAS!"

Lucas Simms, sheriff and mayor-when-necessary of Megaton squinted up at him, one hand shading his dark brow.

"I got something you need to see, sheriff."

Simms nodded, his expression grim. No one took the safety of Megaton more seriously than its sheriff. Even if the sheriff couldn't exactly predict how those he let in his gates would turn out. But his success rate was high. Only a few outstanding cases existed.

But they were long gone. _She_ was long gone.

Simms hustled over to the ladder leading the way up the wall to a series of catwalks that connected to Stockholm's tower. As he climbed he felt the wind scratch at his face and the dust tangle into his beard. Generally the sniper was a lone wolf, needing no input from him. The only time he hesitated was whenever she came to town.

But it couldn't be her. She was long gone.

Nimbly crossing the catwalk, always minding were his feet went as the wind sought to unsteady him, Simms pulled himself up to Stockholm's perch. The sniper glanced over his shoulder at him before returning his eye to his scope.

"What d'you got for me, Stockholm?" Simms' deep voice growled. The wind picked up again, snapping his duster around. He pulled it tighter around himself in a vain attempt to keep the dirt out.

Stockholm pursed his lips uncertainly. "I… am not sure."

"You're not sure?' Simms asked, irritated that he might have made the climb up for a false alarm.

Stockholm pulled his face away from his rifle to give Simms a wounded look. "Lucas, come on, there's a storm out there. Not the best line of sight."

"But you see something?"

Stockholm hesitated and put his eye back to his scope. "I… do. But I'm not sure what… or who."

Simms sighed deeply and relaxed his posture, a little of the tension bleeding from his system. "It's not her, Stockholm."

"But it could-"

"It's not her," Simms repeated, overriding the sniper's objection. "She left. She ain't coming back."

"But-" Stockholm tried again, trying to get his words out before Simms shut him down.

"It's. Not. Her," Simms said firmly, brooking no argument. "She left. For good. Decided those creeps in Tenpenny Tower were more to her liking. She finally found her own kind." Simms stared Stockholm in the eyes for a few seconds, daring him to try and argue once more. The sniper tried to hold his gaze, but folded and returned to looking through the scope on his rifle. Simms snorted and stood to get up and start the long climb back down. As he turned to go he commented, "You know if you'd done your job properly the first time, we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

Simms nearly stumbled as his wrist was caught and he was pulled back around to face Stockholm. The sniper was glaring at him.

"I have never shot someone who didn't deserve it," Stockholm said. " _Never_." His grip tightened on Simms' arm. "Until her. I put a bullet in her on your orders despite my gut telling me not to. I nearly put her down. I made the wrong shot and I will never forget it." He released Simms' arm and held his hand up. A pale white scar ran along the top of his trigger finger, the knotted tissue raised starkly against the sniper's tanned skin.

Snorting Simms straightened up. "Like she didn't deserve to be shot." Stockholm gave him a dirty look. A look the sheriff returned with vehemence. "Well, it's not like she didn't come to deserve it over time," he barked.

"Maybe she wouldn't have left us if I hadn't put a Megaton .308 in her chest!"

Simms threw his hands in the air and shouted at Stockholm, "For fuck's sake, Stockholm, did you call me up here just to act as a confessional? She's not out there, it ain't her. Because she ain't never coming back!"

"Then who the fuck is stumbling around out there in the dark, Lucas!?" Stockholm shouted back, thrusting his rifle into the sheriff's hands. Simms ground his teeth together and glared at Stockholm for a few seconds before he raised the rifle to his shoulder and peered into the scope. "That's the world I get to see out there," Stockholm ranted, as he waited for the sheriff to zero in on the figure out in the storm. "That's all I get to see and I have to make a decision. I have to play god for this town. So how's it feel, huh?" he asked. "It crystal clear for you?"

"My god…" Simms murmured, pulling his eye away from the scope.

Stockholm crossed his arms smugly. "That's what I thought. You can't tell. You can't tell, you couldn't tell, you can never tell, and you still had me shoot her." He was knocked back in surprise as Simms thrust the rifle into his arms.

"No, you idiot," Simms shouted as he darted back across the catwalk and slung his body around the ladder. He looked at Stockholm, "There's a kid out there." Before the sniper could reply, the sheriff was sliding down the ladder to the ground, yelling, "Weld! Steel! Get that gate open!" as he went.

Sheriff Lucas Simms hit the ground just as his Protectron deputies activated the motors to pull the gates open. Lucas could hear the hubbub this caused as the town reacted to the gate opening this late at night, not to mention during a sandstorm.

Simms coughed and covered his mouth as the full force of the gale nearly bowled him over. Out of the corner of his eye he could make out Mickey. The hobo had pulled himself into a crevasse along the wall and wrapped a sheet of cardboard around himself.

But the water beggar didn't rate his attention as he ran forwards into the storm. The Wasteland was no place for a child, especially during a storm. He couldn't in good conscience leave them out here.

The small shadowy voice in the back of his mind chose to remind him that his conscience had let someone else into his town before. His conscience had made him open the doors and give shelter to one of the most dangerous people in the Wasteland. His conscience had made him welcome a living weapon into his home.

But this wouldn't be like that.

Because she was long gone. And she wasn't coming back.

Lucas shook those thoughts away as he tried to focus into the storm. The sand scratched at his face as he squinted. Just there. He could barely make them out. He adjusted course and made his way towards the small figure.

And there she was.

This tiny, quivering little figure, holding herself as if she was about to fall apart. Clad in nothing, but rags and a long, striped scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, the girl looked up it him, eyes unwavering, before collapsing into his arms.

Simms wrapped his duster around the girl and looked around into the storm. There was nobody else. No one else out there, but the dirt. And no clue as to where the girl had come from other than the bloody track she'd left in the dirt.

But the wind was already wiping them away.

Simms pulled her to his chest and started back to Megaton.

Who was she? Where had she come from?

As Simms hid his face from the storm and shielded the girl with his body, the world was silent asides the howling of the wind.

No one to tell him the answers to his questions.

There were no words there.

Only the silent stories in the earth.

Only the earth knew. Only the earth remembered.

Only it knew where the girl had come from.

And only it knew what had happened there.


	2. Clinically Hopeful

"So where the hell did she come from? Why'd you bring 'er 'ere?"

Simms looked up from the sleeping form of the child he'd pulled out of the storm and into the sea of onlookers. Moriarty wasn't near the front of the assembled crowd, but his voice was always recognizable. Either the accent or the dripping contempt for everyone and everything.

"There a reason you care, you old coot?" Jenny Stahl said with barely veiled hatred. The large majority of Megaton were gathered around the Brass Lantern where Simms had laid the child down on one of the mismatched tables on its patio. Jenny was standing behind her counter and had fixed Moriarty with a harsh glare. "It's not like she'd exactly affect your business, being a child and all?"

Moriarty shouldered his way through to the front and looked dispassionately down at the unconscious girl. "Oh, I don't _particularly_ care. Just thinking about the last bloodstained child we let in our walls."

"Yeah. She became one of your best customers," Billy Creel muttered. He looked up after speaking to note several severe stares being directed at his contribution to the conversation. "What? It's true," he defended before lapsing back into silence.

"True or not," Moriarty said, "Our fair Wanderer had caps. She earned her place here." Moriarty looked around at the settlers of Megaton. "I don't suppose it's the business man in me, but I doubt this child has much in the way of payment." He narrowed his eyes slyly. "Unless of course someone wants to voluntarily feed another mouth."

A ripple went through the crowd. No one had wanted to say it, or even think it, but Moriarty's statement was something that suddenly seemed valid. Megaton might have been a safe and secure settlement, but it wasn't like they were overflowing with caps and amenities. Life was good, but there wasn't particularly a surplus. Something that any of the parents in the audience realized. Billy Creel pulled Maggie closer to him and Simms looked towards his own house where Harden was still asleep. Simms wanted to say something angry to the miserly bar owner, but Moriarty had a point. No one was crazy enough to take this child into their home and have another drain on meager resources.

"As fascinating as it is trying to see which one of you altruistic folks is going to volunteer," a cheery voice cut in, "But I think the conversation can wait." Moira Brown wormed her way through the crowd, giving a beaming smile and wave to each and every person she bumped into. She stumbled on Moriarty's outstretched foot, but managed to right herself before toppling over. She grinned at Moriarty who sneered back at her. Twirling around in her work boots to face Simms, she pointed down at the table. "Somebody's awake."

The group of people all closed in around Moira and Simms. The sheriff craned his neck down to peer into the two big brown eyes looking back up at him. The girl held his gaze for a few moments before reaching up to the tattered blue scarf she was wearing. Lifting the dirty material, she unrolled it and tucked her face into it, hiding the people of Megaton from view.

Moira pursed her lips and slapped the sheriff on his arm. The big man looked down at the tiny woman next to him as she berated him. "You scared her! Lucas, you big dummy!"

"Moira, I-" he started to reply, trying to pacify the eccentric inventor, but she shooed him away and knelt down next to the girl, so they were at eye level.

"Hi there," she crooned, trying to coax the little girl to show her face again. "Don't be scared of the grumpy, old sheriff. He's just a big teddy bear anyway."

Moriarty sidled up next to Simms as Moira continued to fruitlessly get the girl to reveal herself. "So, Lucas, ya big teddy bear," he said with a snide grin as Simms' jaw tightened. "What's the plan here? As mayor it's up to you, innit? Who's the girl going to be staying with? Now that you've brought her in our walls that is."

Simms growled in the back of his throat in displeasure. Moriarty was always good to have around to sway Jericho to help in the face of an attack, but with the former raider missing in action, he was starting to wonder why he took the bar owner's shit in stride.

Oh right. Because if the bar shut down he'd have a revolt on his hands. He eyed Moriarty for a moment and chewed his tongue unhappily. "She'll stay until the storm passes. Then we'll see if one of the caravans will take her to Little Lamplight. Wolfgang would probably go for that."

"How magnanimous, your mayorship. How do you think the caravan guards are gonna like having a child around? Probably not that secure."

Simms grit his teeth. Moriarty was pushing it tonight. It was a little girl for fuck's sake. Was he supposed to leave her out in the storm? He'd take her if he could, but with him and Harden, his pantry was already emptied each week. "We'll make it work," he growled.

"Of course, we will," Moira chimed in, looking over her shoulder at them. "Forget Wolfgang. I'll take her," she said with a grin. "She seems friendly enough."

The girl still hadn't unwrapped her face from the scarf she was hiding in.

Moriarty let out a short bark of laughter and a distinct sense of worry swept through the crowd. Simms swallowed uncomfortably. "Now, Moira, that's mighty kind of you, but I don't think your shop is the… safest place for a child."

Moira stood up, brushing dust off her knees. "And you think the Wasteland is safer?"

Simms shifted in place, once more cowed by the bubbly, young woman who barely came up to his shoulder. "Well, not exactly, no, I'm not saying that."

"Good!" Moira said brightly. "Now, go away, Lucas. You're still scaring her." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder to the girl.

He looked at her and then pointed at himself. She nodded. Under her unwavering eyes, the sheriff of Megaton took several steps back to join the rest of crowd. He nodded at them like nothing was out of the ordinary and awkwardly looked up into the sky as if trying to find the stars. Moira nodded in satisfaction and turned to Leo Stahl.

"Leo! Grab me a can of Cram and put it on my tab! We're getting to see those gorgeous brown eyes if it kills all of us."

The assembled crowd swallowed nervously. Moira was known for speaking in hyperbole… and then having it turn out just as absurd as she'd originally said. So when she claimed that somebody might drop dead in her quest to get the girl to come out of her shell. Well… stranger things had happen. And in Megaton too.

Leo hesitated for a moment. "You don't have a tab, Moira."

"I do now," she replied with a grin and looked at him expectantly.

Leo sighed and started for the kitchen as the grouping of Megaton folks dispersed a bit. The followers of the Church of Atom left for their bunks and the rest either went back to their homes or followed Moriarty back to his bar. Maggie lingered, trying to get a peek at the mystery girl again, but Billy ushered her away and back to bed.

Soon enough, it was just Moira, Lucas Simms, and the Stahls sitting in the soft glow of the Brass Lantern's lights. Leo returned with the tin of Cram and handed it to Moira before stepping back with his siblings to watch the proceedings.

Moira shook the can next the girl's ear. "You seem like you might be the hungry sort," Moira whispered. "I think it's the way your shirt is practically hanging off you. Want something to eat?"

Simms walked up by Leo, Andy, and Jenny and the four of them watched with rapt attention as Moira coaxed the girl out. The only motion at first was a slight shift of the scarf and then the girl's stomach growled, sounding just like some sort of wild hound. Moira laughed happily and while she was distracted, the girl's hand darted out to grab the tin of Cram. Her face was only seen for a moment before tumbling backwards off the table and hiding under it with the prewar can of food. She began gnawing at the metal container, trying to get at the food within.

"Fantastic," Simms muttered, "She's feral. Can't open a damned can."

The sound of the girl's teeth on the metal halted and Simms looked at her. She was staring haughtily up at him from under the table, but as soon as she saw he'd noticed her she hid her face in her scarf again.

"But apparently she can speak English, Lucas. I think you hurt her feelings," Moira said, frowning. She turned back to the girl. "I think you'll need this," she said, holding out the key used to open the top of the Cram. "Just plug it-" she said, starting to direct the child, but the girl snatched the key away and fed it into the side of the top. She turned it, splitting the top open, and scooped her fingers in for the preserved meat within. Moira watched in wonder and broke into an even broader smile. "Well, I guess you can figure it out on your own. Do you want to come out from under there now?"

The girl looked at Moira, her cheeks bulging with Cram, and then gave Simms a suspicious look.

"Oh, he'll stay right over there," Moira said and gave Simms a pointed look. "Won't he?" Simms nodded and Moira held her hand out for the girl to take. Under the table she recoiled from the hand for a few seconds and eyed it warily, but Moira just held still and kept smiling. After a few seconds, the girl lightly took it and Moira started to pull her to her feet. However, as she was pulled to her feet, the girl winced and pulled away from Moira, scooting further back under the table. Moira looked at her in concern and her eyes widened in alarm. "Or you could stay under the table, I guess?"

Simms let out a deep sigh and Moira glanced over at him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and pointed at the girl. "Moira… her feet."

Moira bent herself over, now looking at the girl completely inverted. She was watched curiously as the girl kept spooning Cram into her mouth, occasionally wiping her lips on her scarf. Moira gave her a grin to assure her before looking at her feet. She had to stifle a gasp at the state of them. They were cut up and torn to pieces, bits of rock and glass jut out of them. Moira's ever present smile slid of her face and her mouth hung open in shock.

"CHURCH!" She hollered before grabbing the kid around the middle. Before the girl could scamper away, Moira pulled her out from under the table and sprinted for Doc Church's clinic. Simms and the Stahls watched in surprise as instead of trying to squirm away, the girl simply allowed herself to be held aloft without so much as a noise of protest.

"Mark my words, there's no way this will be good," Simms mumbled as he watched the eccentric inventor dash away with the girl. He shook his head and started home. "For either of them." He kept muttering darkly as he disappeared into the night.

Jenny Stahl shook her head even as her brothers appeared to be agreeing with the sheriff. Moira might be crazy, but she'd take care of the kid. Just look at her hammering on Doc Church's door in the middle of the night. That was risking life and limb for a girl she'd seen for the first time not more than ten minutes prior.

"Church, we're in need of immediate doctoring! I see your light on, I know you're home!"

Moira was pounding her fist on the door and awkwardly balancing the girl in a seated position on top of her knee. The girl was watching in fascination as Moira yelled and yelled trying to get Doc Church's attention. "You. Are. In. There!"

"No, I'm not!" shouted an irritated voice out one of the shack's windows. Moira and the girl reared back in surprise at the hostility in the voice. Doc Church ripped the door to his shack open, nearly tearing it off of its makeshift hinges. He was wrapped in a robe and scowled at the two of them. Moira smiled in greeting and waved her fingers at him. The girl hid her face within the folds of her scarf again.

"Moira Brown," Doc Church hissed, seething at the late call. "I don't care how many limbs you've glued together. I don't care if they're nailed together! It's the middle of the goddamned night. Come back later."

"Oh Doc," Moira said, laughing at what she imagined to be a joke. "It's not me, silly, it's her," she said, lifting the girl up higher into Church's view. "She could use some of your famous Wasteland doctoring!"

Doc Church's jaw twitched and his eyelids narrowed as he looked at the girl. She peaked out from her scarf to meet his eye with one of hers. Church scowled at her and stood up straight and tightened his robe. "Well, get in here." He yelled back over his shoulder as they followed. "And Moira, don't you dare touch anything!"

Moira rolled her eyes and shared a conspiratorial look with the child who looked at her quizzically in return. Moira tapped her on the nose and she disappeared back into her scarf, but Moira could still see her eyes above the lip of it. There was a faint glint of a smile in them and she wasn't looking away this time. She kept close watch on Moira the entire time as she carried her into Doc Church's operating room. She set her down on the table and stepped back, all the time being watched.

"Well, let's get this over with," Church said as he pulled his medical kit out from a cabinet and unclasped it. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked the girl. He waited a moment, but she was silent, once more looking on in trepidation. Church frowned and glanced at Moira. "Not the most talkative sort, is she?"

Moira made a puzzled face and replied, "No, no she certainly isn't. I… I don't think she's said anything actually."

"Great," Church sighed. He looked to the girl and spoke slowly and loudly. "What is your name?" She made no response and Church made a quick prayer to the heavens. "Alright, Chatterbox," he said sternly. "I'm old and tired. _And_ I'm the one who has to fix you. I'd bet you'd hate for me to use a soldering iron instead of stitches."

The girl said nothing.

Church threw his head back with a groan and turned to Moira. "You want to bring some waste child to my doorstep, make sure she speaks goddamn English!"

Moira snickered as Doc Church's face reddened and just when it looked like he was going to burst a vein at her laughing, she pointed behind him. The girl had stuck her bloodied feet straight out and was holding them aloft for the doctor to examine.

"Well, I'll be damned, Chatterbox," Doc Church said, gently lifting one of her feet. "You do speak English and you're tough to boot! These cuts are deep, you've been walking on them?" He waited a few moments of silence before saying, "Nod for yes." She nodded. He mulled that over for a moment before reaching into his bag. He pulled out a syringe of Med-X and pointed towards the far wall. "What's that?" The girl whipped her head around to see. Behind the doctor, Moira fell for it as well. Once the girl was distracted he jabbed her in the leg with the Med-X. She snapped back to him, a look of pain on her face. Her mouth fell open in shock, but she quickly closed it when both Doc Church and Moira leaned in hoping she was going to say something.

Church shook his head as he began digging glass and rock from her feet. "Damn, Chatterbox. You're really playing the silent shtick hard. She hasn't said anything?" he asked Moira.

"Not a peep."

He nodded and tugged a particularly jagged piece of metal out of her foot. Admiring it, he gave her a shrewd look. "Admittedly, the last person I had to dig this much shrapnel out of talked a lot more. Swore more too."

The girl craned her head to the side, clearly curious, but her attention was pulled back to her feet. She bit her lip as Doc Church fought another piece out of her foot. Church snapped his fingers to distract her and said, "Eyes here, Chatterbox. Focus on me. That patient I was talking about may have been a pain in my ass, but if she needed some yao guai fangs pulled out of her, she wasn't bothered by the pain. She'd go beat the yao guai to death before even thinking about treatment."

The girl's eyes widened as Church talked. Clearly she couldn't imagine someone being unbothered by the mutated bears' teeth.

The doctor nodded seriously. "I'll tell you, that girl," his eyes widened theatrically, " _The Lone Wanderer_ , tough as nails and twice as sharp… if not seriously screwy in the head."

Moira scoffed behind him and said, "She wasn't _that_ bad."

"She threw herself off the catwalk for your damned research, Moira! That's not sane. And she was a raging drug addict," he barked at her, silencing the inventor. He turned back to the girl. "You're not a chem addict are you?" She shook her head. Doc Church nodded in satisfaction. "Good."

He pulled another piece from her feet and reached for a roll of bandages. "Chems are bad for you. Just like bullet holes, knife wounds, and everything else the Lone Wanderer ever did. All bad for you." The girl furrowed her eyebrows and frowned.

"I'm with you, kiddo," Moira said, cutting in as Doc Church wound the gauze around the girl's feet. She clapped Church on the shoulder, causing him to give her a sharp glare. Moira didn't notice, she was smiling at the girl who was looking at her with rapt attention. "Doc Church is just being mean because the Wanderer didn't like him that much."

"She didn't like anyone," Church interjected.

"Well, no one was all that nice to her," Moira countered. "You all treated her like she was dangerous."

Church tied a knot at the girl's ankles and patted her knees, letting her lower her legs and sit comfortably. "She was dangerous," he said to Moira. "I have never seen someone as talented with a gun, a knife, her bare hands for crying out loud, or someone so ready to use those talents on the turn of a cap."

Moira pouted and was about to concede the point, but she noticed the girl watching them, drinking in the conversation. She was listening closely to every detail with hunger. Giving the girl a nod, Moira looked back to Doc Church. "Okay, so she was dangerous, but! She wasn't dangerous to us. She helped Megaton more times than I can count. Without thanks. She saved us and I know she saved others. The radio loves talking about it!"

Shaking his head, Church pulled the girl from the table and gently pushed her towards Moira. "Get her out of here, Chatterbox. Preferably before she starts acting _more_ altruistic and nice. It's making my stomach turn."

With a laugh, Moira held her hand out for the girl to take. After a moment of deliberation she did and they walked for the exit.

"Thank you, Doctor Church!" Moira cheered as the girl walked without cringing. "And I'm sure our friend would thank you if she was feeling more talkative."

"Whatever, go away, don't come back."

Moira waved goodbye, the girl imitated the motion. She called back over her shoulder to the doctor. "Don't worry, Church, I won't go telling anyone about your bedside manner. You were almost kind tonight!"

"Fuck off and let me sleep, Moira!" Doc Church started to duck back into his shack, but he hesitated and fixed eyes with the girl. "And Chatterbox… try to stay away from live grenades. Next time, I'm not patching you up." He slammed the door.

Moira cocked her head to the side. A grenade? Where in the Wasteland had she stumbled upon a live grenade? If she ever started talking, Moira would have to ask her. But that unpleasant conversation could wait. The two of them were all smiles. Well, Moira was always smiling, but the girl had just started and it was nice. Quiet, but still nice. She glanced down with a grin.

"So… Chatterbox, huh?"

The girl grinned back up at her before disappearing back into her scarf


	3. Shot From The Past

"How in the whole of the Wasteland did you get up here?"

Stockholm was startled from his observations as a small, dirty blonde-haired head bobbed into his field of view. It was the girl from the night before. Chatterbox he'd been hearing Moira call her. The girl didn't respond, she glanced at him briefly before looking down over the railing and into the desert below.

For his part, Stockholm didn't immediately banish her. He was never particularly fond of people bothering him at his perch, probably why he was so great at his job and the isolation it entailed. Instead he was fascinated by the girl miraculously appearing there. The climb up the scaffolding was not for the lighthearted. Most would in fact describe it as treacherous. The girl must have been one nimble little monkey to get up there.

"Seriously… how'd you get up here kid?"

Again, she didn't respond. This time because she appeared to be actively ignoring him and was dangling her feet off the edge of the platform. She'd draped her body over the cross bar of the railing and was idly watching the clouds drift across the sky.

Stockholm sighed and settled back into his chair, tugging the umbrella into position to shade both him and the child. He reached to his side and felt around in the crate next to his seat until he found a bottle of Nuka Cola. He held it out to the girl. "Want some?"

She fixed him with a pensive stare, but made no move to take the bottle. Stockholm took a steadying breath. People tried his patience. This girl was in a league of her own. He mimed taking a sip from the bottle. She mimicked his hand and cupped her own, bringing it to her lips and back down in a fluid impersonation of him.

He scoffed and shook his head. "Whatever, Chatterbox." She beamed at him as he used her new nickname. Stockholm snapped the bottle down, catching the lid on the edge of his armrest, neatly uncapping it. The cap sailed up into the air, but before Stockholm could reach out and catch it, the girl's tiny hand darted out and snagged it from the air. "What the hell, Chatterbox?" he cried, but the cap had already disappeared into the ragged dress shirt the girl had tied around herself like some sort of dress. He could see the smirk in her eyes even as she hid the lower half of her face in the dirty blue scarf she had tied around her neck.

Fixing her with a glare, Stockholm slumped in his seat and took a pull from the Nuka. "You know I could have shot you last night," he mumbled bitterly over his lost cap. He started to take another drink, but noted Chatterbox looking at him with her head cocked to the side. His throat suddenly dry, he straightened up. The girl might not say much, but she heard _everything_.

"I could've," he repeated, "But I didn't! I wouldn't. I've never shot someone who didn't have it comin'. Never shot an innocent." Chatterbox continued to stare at him unblinkingly with her big, brown eyes. Stockholm squirmed under her gaze. "Okay!" he burst. "One time, _one time_ ," he said leaning out of his chair and holding one finger out. "Just once."

She cocked her head to the other side.

"She was dressed exactly like a raider," Stockholm protested. He paused and considered his defense. "Which admittedly was because she'd been enslaved by a group, but…" He shook his head and waved his hands, spilling his Nuka on the deck of his platform. "She was fine, she was fine. It takes a lot more than a shot to the gut to put the Lone Wanderer down."

Chatterbox's head snapped up, no longer listening passively. She scooted away from the edge of the sniper's nest and moved over in front of Stockholm. She sat cross-legged in front of him and looked up, entirely engrossed in what he was saying. The change in the girl was not lost on Stockholm.

"So, you've heard of the Lone Wanderer, have you?" She bobbed her head eagerly. Stockholm couldn't contain a smile at his captive audience. "I've met her," he teased. Chatterbox's eyes widened. "She was a regular here in Megaton for a long time. Had a house, did some work for Moira." Chatterbox smiled bashfully at the mention of Moira. Her cheeks turned pink and she hid her face in her scarf. Stockholm chuckled. "Yeah, Moira's pretty nice. She was the first one to offer the Wanderer work after that kid defused our bomb."

Chatterbox jumped to her feet and ran over to the opposite side of the tower to look down at Megaton's main square. Sitting pretty in its crater was the bomb.

"Yep, she defused that thing. That's how she got her house. A gift from the town to her," Stockholm said. He mulled over his next words carefully. Clearly the kid was fascinated by the legend of the Lone Wanderer. But that girl was… complicated at best. "She was our hero, she was," Stockholm said. "But she… she was difficult too." Chatterbox looked away from the bomb back to the sniper, waiting for him to continue. Stockholm motioned for her to come back away from the edge and she walked back over to him. "The Lone Wanderer did not have it easy. She might have been our hero, but I don't think she ever really wanted to be. She had to be, you see?"

Stockholm shook his head. No way the kid saw, he barely understood what he just said. "She saved people, right? And people just expected her to keep doing that. No one ever wondered if she needed saving herself. I mean shit, first time she came to town was with my bullet in her and all we did was say 'sorry'. Can you imagine how that felt? An apology after I nearly killed her?" Stockholm shook his head. At some point this conversation had turned from him wowing the kid to him spilling his guts. At least she was a good listener. He got to his feet and walked over to the railing, looking out into the Wasteland. "I think we drove her away, Chatterbox. We always wanted more from her and never thought to give a little back. Now she's gone."

Chatterbox looked up at him in panic and Stockholm caught himself. "No! No! She's not dead," he said hurriedly, Stockholm breathed a sigh of relief as the girl relaxed. "She's just not here. Word is she's working for Tenpenny now. Come here," he said. He reached forward to pick the girl up and lift her onto the railing, but she shied away and looked at him warily. He lowered his arms and after a moment she clambered up onto the railing under her own power and allowed Stockholm to brace behind her so she didn't slip and fall from the tower.

"Look out that way," he said, pointing to the southwest. "Look on the horizon and you'll see it. Tenpenny Tower." The building stood out as a slight silhouette along the horizon. Poking up from the desert like some pre-war monolith. "She's working for the rich people now. Living in comfort and getting paid a heaping helping of caps to do what we all just expected her to do." Stockholm grimaced. "I guess that's what we get. Take someone like that for granted. Expect her to solve all your hurts without considering her own and she'll up and leave one day."

Chatterbox tugged on his sleeve. Stockholm looked down and she was gazing up at him from below his chin, those brown eyes looking at him again. She held up the cap she'd snagged to him.

"Nah, that's okay, Chatterbox, you keep it," he pushed her hand gently back down and went back to looking out at the Wasteland. She started pulling at his arm again. "Chat, it's cool, you keep it," he said and glanced back down. But the girl wasn't offering him the cap again. Her tiny hand was pointing out into the Wasteland, north of the city. "The hell is that?" Stockholm said softly trying to squint and see what the girl had spotted. Before she could squirm away he hoisted her down from the railing and set her on the floor again. He grabbed his rifle and brought the scope to his eye, scanning around until he found what the girl had somehow seen.

"Holy shit."

* * *

They'd drifted to the town en masse, one large horde of bedraggled people. Mickey looked like the world was falling apart when they'd arrived, afraid they were here to steal whatever meager water he managed to beg for each day. Deputies Weld and Steel practically froze on the spot, their sensors so overwhelmed with what was happening.

Lucas Simms, stood on the wall looking down at what he could only describe as refugees. Clad in rags and carrying not much else, it looked like they'd simply grouped up and started walking. Megaton just happened to be the first place in their path and now they'd stopped. Men, women, children, all with the same terrified, hopeless looks on their faces.

Slaves, the lot of em.

Stockholm had seen them coming from the north, Paradise Falls probably, though how a mass migration of slaves managed to walk away from that hell-hole escaped Lucas's understanding. He'd been summoned from his home by Stockholm's frantic shouting again. He'd barely stepped out his front door in time to see the sniper practically leaping down from his post, Moira's new little charge was clinging to his back as the sniper sprinted for him.

It hadn't taken much explaining for Lucas and Stockholm to race back to the wall and watch. Watch the slaves come.

And now they were here. Outside Megaton's walls, outside his walls. The sun was starting to dip on the horizon and the slaves had started to make fires, the multitude of lights keeping the desert in front of the gates well illuminated. They worked quickly, scavenging for sheets of metal and pieces of wood. By the time the sun had set, they'd built a functional shanty town in the shadow of Megaton's walls. And Lucas stood and watched as they did it.

This was something outside of his wheelhouse. An escaped slave? You help the poor bastard. But a mass emigration of them? That was trouble. Trouble that was camping on his doorstep. Trouble that would inevitably bring more trouble. Paradise Falls wouldn't lay down and let a jailbreak stand. They'd come for them. All of them. And that meant they'd be coming to Megaton.

The sound of the gates clattering open beneath him distracted Lucas from his dismal ruminations. Who the hell was going out there? Who'd do some fool thing like that?

Ah.

Moira Brown stood waiting for the gates to finish opening. A crate of Aqua Pura was held under one arm. Her other hand was held tightly by the girl, Chatterbox, who was standing next to her, a single bottle of water held in her free hand. Behind them was Moira's shop guard. The usually stoic man was standing uncomfortably, his arms full of blankets. Somehow Moira had convinced him to leave the shop and do something outside the bounds of his contract. The girl noticed Lucas looking down at them and after a few moments, Moira saw her looking up at him. She craned her head up, her eyes squinted to see who was on the wall. Realizing it was Lucas, Moira smiled and waved at him, dropping her crate of Aqua Pura to the ground and sending the bottles spilling into the dirt.

Lucas sighed and closed his eyes. Guess he was going to have to deal with his runaway slave problem sooner rather than later if Moira was going out there. He opened his eyes once more and hurried over to the stairs in order to catch up to Moira's party before they exited the town. He got to the ground just as Moira finished scrabbling around in the dust for her lost water. Lucas nodded at Moira's guard who gave no indication he'd even seen the sheriff, the man just studiously stared at the wall. Chatterbox was waiting patiently as Moira tried to get all the bottles back into the crate. She fixed Lucas with her trademarked wide-eyed stare.

Moira hopped to her feet and cheerfully greeted him. "Lucas! Come to join our little aid party? We've got blankets and water! As much as I can spare! More actually! I've given up my blankets. And Eastwood's!" She jerked her thumb over her shoulder to her guard. He jumped to attention at hearing his name and looked down at the stack of blankets he was holding and to his dismay saw his among them.

"That's very nice and all, Moira," Lucas said, picking her crate up off the ground for her, "But are you sure going out there is the wisest idea? We don't know who those people are."

Moira laughed dismissively and wrestled her crate away from Lucas, nearly toppling over and dropping the bottles again in the process. "Oh, I'm sure it'll be fine! Just look at them! They're just a bunch of harmless, beaten, skeletal, puppy dogs! Harmless!" Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a wide 'oh'. Next to her Chatterbox mimicked the facial expression. "Ohhhhh!" Moira gasped. "I suppose if they all charged en masse they could muscle their way through the gates like- like- like a flood!" She grinned and turned on her heel, Chatterbox and Eastwood following. "That'd be fascinating, wouldn't it?"

Lucas made a pained expression as Moira succinctly put his fears into words. Just without the fear. He rubbed his brow, trying to ward off the oncoming headache before tagging along after her group.

The residents of Megaton's new suburb crawled out of their meager tents to watch the interlopers walk through their camp. The difference between them was shockingly stark. Where the escaped slaves were haggard and thin, the Megaton residents were well-fed. Even Chatterbox was rosier cheeked than these poor souls.

Lucas kept his hand on the butt of his pistol and Eastwood looked like he wished he had his rifle in his arms instead of blankets, but both men remained cool. None of the slaves so much as stepped towards them, only watching. Moira led the way, oblivious to the tensions behind her. She seemed to be following no path in particular, but instead let the structure of the camp guide her. Walking past fires and tents, Moira kept walking until her path dead-ended at one tent in particular.

This tent seemed to be in the best condition and was the largest of all that had been erected. A lone lantern hung from its front and the sounds of someone moving about could be heard from inside. Lucas squared up next to Moira as the sounds of movement grew closer. The flap to the tent was thrown open and a scruffy looking man with graying hair and a scraggly beard stood before them. His eyes widened at the sight of the grizzled sheriff, hand on his gun, and the smiling woman with her arms full of water. "Uh… hi…" he said slowly, looking at them in wonder and surprise. "How can I help-" The man's eyes fell on Chatterbox next to Moira. She was holding out her lone bottle of water to the man. "-you."

The man knelt down in front of her, recognition flooding his face. "You… how on earth did you get out?" Chatterbox said nothing, just resolutely held out the water until the man accepted it. "Thank you." He stood up, suddenly aware of the adults' intense scrutiny from behind the child.

"Hi," he repeated, reaching behind his head to awkwardly scratch his neck. He held out his other hand to shake. "Rory MacLaren. I guess I'm the leader of these people."

* * *

After hasty introductions, Rory promised to answer any questions Lucas might have if they could get the blankets and water distributed to his people. Moira, Lucas, Rory, and Chatterbox walked around the shanty, stopping every once in a while to pass out the supplies. Lucas had been right. They were escaped slaves from Paradise Falls. However, beyond that, details were scarce. Rory wasn't entirely sure what had happened. The power at the fortress went out, there was screaming, gunfire, explosions, but all he knew was that the pens were left unguarded. He'd rallied as many of the other slaves as he could and they'd run. They finished their circuit and returned to Rory's tent to finish talking. They stepped inside. Rory offered what passed as a seat to Moira who graciously took it. Chatterbox quickly climbed into her lap.

"So you know Chatterbox?" she asked, shifting the girl into a more comfortable position.

Rory chuckled and nodded. "Not as Chatterbox, but yeah. She was at Paradise Falls too. One of my friends, Penny, knew her before I did."

Moira nodded, absentmindedly running her fingers through Chatterbox's dirt covered hair. "Does she have any family? Friends? Anybody?"

"I don't know," Rory replied with a sigh, crossing his arms and watching Chatterbox close her eyes under Moira's petting. "I don't know much about her to be honest. I'd ask Penny, but she returned to Little Lamplight. I never saw much of, uh, Chatterbox, around Paradise Falls. I mean I didn't see much of anything honestly. Spent most of my time locked up in the Box. I think that might be why I got elected unofficial leader of these people. I'm the only one who never stopped fighting." Rory blushed and shrugged. "Or something like that I guess. But as for her," he said, shifting the topic away from himself. "Chatterbox wasn't in the pens with the rest of the slaves for long. She was part of Eulogy's household in the inner camp, one of his possessions. So the majority of us wouldn't know much about where she came from. I'm just glad she managed to escape too. We haven't seen anyone from the inner camp. Just us from the pens."

In the corner where he'd been standing silently, Lucas loudly cleared his throat. Rory turned to look at him. He'd almost forgotten the large man was there with how quiet he'd been. Lucas shifted his weight and fixed Rory with a look. "That's all good and fascinating, but if your people are going to be camping out here, there's things I need to know."

"Of course, sheriff, but I already told you-" Rory started to say, but he was cut off by Lucas.

"I know. You told me what you knew." He frowned. "Which isn't very much. There's got to be more."

Rory sighed and massaged his brow. "I'm sorry, but there's really not."

"Run through it again," Lucas ordered.

It looked like Rory was going to argue, but he seemed to understand that the slaves current location was only allowed through the sheriff of Megaton's good graces.

"It was chaos," he explained. "No one knew what was going on. Not us and not the slavers. Something happened, I know that, but what-"

Lucas held up a hand, stopping Rory's rambling. "Slowly," he said. "From the beginning. Just what you know."

"Well, I was in the Box," Rory said and received a blank look from Lucas. "Solitary confinement. The Box is punishment for troublemakers and rabble-rousers. It was basically my permanent home." Rory scratched the back of his neck again. Lucas noted the motion this time and saw the tan lines. A bomb collar used to be there. "Early in the day, someone came to Paradise Falls. The slavers were talking about it. It was someone important. Someone they were all a little afraid of." He eyed Lucas and said, "I don't know who," before the sheriff could ask. "The slavers were antsy about it. We slaves could feel it. It was like a current had run through the camp. But I never saw who it was. They never came by the pens. Probably went straight to Eulogy. After a little while the shooting started." Rory paused and swallowed, his eyes had lost their spark and gone dark. "Then the explosions, then the screaming." He shivered. "I could hear it all from the Box. We all could, but Paradise Falls is segmented. The pens are separate from the inner camp where the important slaves are kept. Whatever happened was happening there."

"How'd you get out?" Lucas asked, spurring the recollection onwards.

"Penny got me out," Rory answered. "She got me out and we ran. Away from the sound of death and carnage thank you very much." He shook his head and massaged his neck once more. "We stopped by the pens and through the gates open. There were no guards. Whatever was happening apparently had everyone running for the center. No eyes on us, so we all ran."

The tent fell into silence as Rory finished his retelling. Lucas scuffed his boot on the ground and growled, "Fantastic, there could be an army of slavers a day behind you, coming to recollect ya'll and I don't know a damned thing about it."

Rory's patience over Lucas's grilling seemed to wear thin. "I'm sorry I'm just some third rate worker bee and didn't rate my own private cell for Eulogy to keep me in. If I did, I'd be sure to give you all the juicy details of what went down in the inner camp."

Lucas planted a finger firmly in Rory's chest, nearly knocking the smaller man over. "Watch it," he threatened. "I don't like your tone. But I do have to agree with those scum bags assessment of you. You do rate the cheap seats. No… inner… camp…" Lucas trailed off as he said the words and looked down at Chatterbox who was still sitting sleepily in Moira's lap.

Lucas looked to Rory. "You said she was in the inner camp?"

"Yes, but-"

Lucas ignored him and turned back to Moira and Chatterbox. The girl was looking up at him suspiciously. Lucas knelt down in front of her so they were at eyelevel. "I know you don't feel much like talking," he said, "But I need to know. We could all be in danger right now and you're the only one who would've seen what's coming after us."

"She won't-" Rory tried to say again.

"Quiet you," Lucas barked. Chatterbox flinched at the rise in volume and started to pull her scarf up over her face. Lucas caught her tiny wrists in his hands and kept her from hiding. "Enough of this bullshit, girl. You need to start talking. Whatever you know, I need to know."

"Lucas!" Moira said, her voice lacking its usual cheerful beat as Lucas pulled Chatterbox from her lap.

"She's fine Moira, I'm not hurting her," Lucas said, dismissing her concern. "As long as the girl talks, everything will be fine." Chatterbox tried to pull her hands away, but Lucas held tight. "Talk," he urged her. "Talk, damn it!" Chatterbox shook her head from side to side and screwed her eyes shut. She kept trying to pull her hands away. "TALK!"

As soon as Lucas shouted, Chatterbox bent forward and sank her teeth into his arm. Lucas cried out in pain as she clamped down with her jaw. He released her arms and fell backwards. Chatterbox quickly darted behind Moira as the woman rose protectively in front of her.

"Fucking brat," Lucas growled as he got to his feet and took a menacing step towards her. The girl buried her face in her scarf and then pressed herself against Moira's leg.

"Back off, Lucas," Moira warned, her smiles and good cheer completely gone.

"That girl knows something," Lucas insisted. "And my town, _our_ town, could be in very grave dangers. I need to know."

Rory stepped up next to Moira, putting another body between Lucas and Chatterbox. "It doesn't matter if she knows something. She's not going to tell you."

"Oh, yes she will," Lucas muttered darkly, holding a hand up like he was going to smack someone.

Rory took a step towards Lucas, completely blocking him. "She can't, sheriff. _Can't_. As in cannot."

Lucas eyed him for a moment and slowly lowered his hand. "What are you on about?"

"Whatever she knows, if she knows anything at all, she can't tell you. She can't talk."

Lucas was taken aback, but the words hadn't quite sunk in. "The hell are you talking about?" he growled. "She knows every damn word someone says. I've seen her listening."

Rory shook his head, explaining to the riled sheriff, "Oh she understands you alright. But- but they- she-…" Rory made a frustrated noise, trying to figure out how to say what was on his mind. He groaned and turned away from Lucas, kneeling down next to Chatterbox who was still firmly hugging Moira's leg. "Chatterbox," he said softly. The girl shuddered, but didn't peel herself away from Moira. "Chatterbox," he repeated, "Penny told me. She told me what happened. Now you need to show them. You need to help them understand."

Slowly, ever so slowly, one of Chatterbox's brown eyes could be seen as she lifted her face away from Moira's thigh. The girl fixed Rory with a look before glaring at Lucas.

"I know, I know. He's just scared," Rory said. Behind him Lucas bristled at the accusation. "You have to help him."

Chatterbox pulled herself further away from Moira's leg. Her hands now playing nervously with the ends of her scarf instead of holding on for dear life. She looked at Moira, who looked back at her with a watery smile. While Chatterbox had refused to cry during the exchange Moira looked to be on the break of bawling on her behalf.

"It's okay, Sweetie. Whatever it is. It's okay," she whispered as she bent down next to Rory and Chatterbox. She cupped her cheeks as Chatterbox lifted her chin from the folds of her scarf. "It'll all be okay."

Chatterbox looked at each one of them in turn. Whatever internal struggle she was facing raced through her eyes. Anger, sadness, pain, fear. One after the next wrestling with each other. She took a step back from Moira, freeing her face. Slowly with shaking hands, she reached up to grasp her scarf in both hands and began to unwind it.

Moira gasped in horror as the stained blue scarf fell away and covered her mouth. Rory closed his eyes and looked away, even though he already knew what he'd see. Even Lucas looked like he'd been physically stricken.

Hidden under her scarf was a long, knotted scar, running cleanly across her throat. The raised line was red and angry and ran from one side of her neck to the other. Chatterbox held her chin high for a few seconds before looping her scarf back around her neck and tightening it once more, hiding the mark away. She fell into Moira's arms and plunged her face into the woman's neck. Her tiny little shoulders began to shake as soundless sobs wracked her body.

* * *

Rory explained it all as he walked them back into Megaton. Chatterbox had fallen asleep in Moira's arms, too emotionally drained to keep her eyes open. Moira and an ashen-faced Lucas Simms listened to the tale as they crossed the shanty.

Eulogy Jones ruled Paradise Falls through terror. He was the brains behind every awful method of torture they inflicted on the slaves there. The pinnacle of his twisted creations were his slaves turned bodyguards, Clover and Crimson. They were utterly devoted to him and brainwashed to adore him. Living possessions, he'd crafted the ultimate slaves out of them. Whatever he desired they'd do anything to get him.

Well, Eulogy made an offhand comment about the future of Paradise Falls, the future of his rule. Who'd take over when he was gone, who he'd name his heir. His twisted personal slaves heard this offhanded comment and had practically raced for the slave pens. Clover had gotten there first. She'd dragged Chatterbox away back to Eulogy's pad and when she'd gotten there, Eulogy had at first seemed overjoyed at her thoughtfulness, but soon grew tired with the child's crying.

He'd ordered Clover to do something about it.

Lucas had shushed Rory at that point. It was pretty obvious what the psychopath's solution had been. She'd maimed the girl to quiet her and then they'd kept her as some sort of pet up until whatever had happened at Paradise Falls.

Lucas and Rory watched as Moira carried Chatterbox back to Craterside Supply. Both men watching and wondering what the girl had seen there, both knew that they weren't gonna get an answer.

"Your people are free to stay as long as they need," Lucas said softly, catching Rory off guard. "We'll see about getting some more supplies out there, seeds, tools, the likes."

"Thank you, sheriff," Rory said as the sheriff of Megaton started back to his own home, his shoulders sagged and tired.

"Of course, Rory, of course." Lucas sighed as he reached his door. Sleep would elude him for a long while tonight. He'd gone and lost his temper again over a poor, poor little girl. Hopefully, a camp full of slaves outside the gate would be the end of it.

Hopefully.

* * *

 _A/N: And thus is the tragic history of Chatterbox. But don't worry, her life is pretty uphill from here. It's all good. Unlike my LW's whose life always seems to tank at some point. Speaking of her, new chapter in DMH as well. Have a read. Hope you're enjoying "the Unspoken", I certainly am._


	4. Aixelsyd

"What… are you doing?"

Eastwood stood leaning against his usual wall in Craterside Supply. His arms were crossed and he was glaring with his most intimidating gaze. This glare was famous throughout Megaton for keeping customers in line and far from even entertaining the idea of causing trouble.

It was having zero effect on Chatterbox.

The girl was lying on her stomach directly in front of Eastwood's boots. She was meticulously unthreading his laces from his combat boots, carefully rolling the frayed cord around her fingers as she went. She was well into the second boot and still refusing to acknowledge Eastwood's complaints. With one final tug the final lace came free of the last eyelet on the boot. Chatterbox quickly wound the remaining lace around her knuckles, but before she could scamper off into the recesses of Moira's shop, Eastwood bent down and grabbed ahold of the back of her dress, lifting her clean off the ground with one arm until they were face to face.

"Put them back," he said flatly, the frown lines on his forehead intensifying.

Chatterbox seemed to consider it for a second, stroking what the guard could only guess was an imaginary beard, a motion she'd had to have picked up from watching Lucas Simms. But then she shook her head and smiled triumphantly. She tucked her hands under her arms and hid his laces from sight.

Shifting his grip, so he was holding her with both hands out in front of her, he gave her a light shake, Chatterbox's grin widened as she bobbed back and forth, still refusing to relinquish his laces.

"Listen, you little thief," Eastwood menaced, "Put. Them. Back."

She pouted at him, but nodded and he dropped her to the floor. She unwound her arms from herself and held her hands up to Eastwood. His frayed laces were gone from her knuckles and new, clean ones were carefully looped around her little fingers. His frown lifted momentarily in wonder, but before he could say anything, she dropped the laces at his feet and scampered away behind the counter just as Moira walked into the room.

The inventor was swaying unsteadily, a stack of books and manuals piled high in her arms. Eastwood watched her cross the shop, each step closer to toppling over, but she somehow managed to make it to her counter and dump the load of reading material down.

"Whew," she said with a gust of air. "That… was heavy. So… books, check," she said, patting the pile. "Now for… Chatterbox!" she cheered as the girl poked her head over the counter, examining the books. She looked at Moira at the sound of her name and the two smiled broadly at each other. "Come her, you," she said, holding out her arms to pull Chatterbox up onto the counter.

After being hoisted up, Chatterbox sat cross-legged next to the books and gave Moira a quizzical glance before picking up one of the books. She flipped it over a few times and discarded it, picking up another, and then another. The results were the same each time. Her eyes would flick over it, but she'd in the end put it aside and go on to the next. She finished her perusal of the books and looked back to Moira, now more confused and wondering what this game was.

"They're for reading, silly!" Moira explained, picking one up, a battered copy of 'Mr. Handy's Reading Adventure'. She flipped the book open to the first page and held it out to Chatterbox. Chatterbox frowned, but took the book. "Oh, cheer up!" Moira said, bopping Chatterbox on the nose. "This is the alphabet," she taught, running through each letter and sound. "With the alphabet, you can read. Reading leads to writing which replaces talking!"

Chatterbox's eyes shot up from the book and widened. She stared at Moira incredulously for a moment before gluing her eyes back to the pages of the ancient children's book. She braced her face on her hands and stared straight down on the book splayed across her lap in intense concentration, trying to unlock the secrets of the book through shear willpower alone. Across the room, Eastwood was threading his new laces and watching the two of them curiously. Moira was hovering over Chatterbox eagerly, but was keeping quiet and letting the girl try it out. After a few seconds of silence and no reaction, Moira stooped down to look up at Chatterbox. The girl was frowning in concentration, but her eyes weren't moving in any particular pattern, they were dashing around in no real order.

"Here, I'll show you," Moira offered, gently pulling the book away. She pointed at a picture of a dog and then the corresponding word. She smiled encouragingly at Chatterbox, but the girl's brow was furrowed in consternation.

They went in this vein for a while, Moira narrating and pointing between a word and its corresponding image. With each passing page, Chatterbox's frown grew deeper and deeper causing Moira's excitement to falter. Eventually she was afraid the girl was going to start tearing pages from the books in childish anger and she snatched the lesson away from Chatterbox, replacing it with a pad of paper and a pencil.

"Why don't we try writing?" Moira suggested. "I love writing! I write all the time for my research, it's fun!" Chatterbox held the paper and pencil in her tiny hands, but seemed more receptive to writing than she had with the book. Moira grinned at her and picked up the 'Mr. Handy' book once more. She turned back to the page they'd started on. It depicted the robotic servant walking a dog. Moira pointed to the dog. "Write it down for me, Chatterbox!"

Chatterbox huffed a sigh and wrapped her fingers tightly around the pencil. She hunched over her paper so Moira couldn't see what she was doing. It only took a few seconds for Moira to guess that she wasn't writing D-O-G. The scribbling was far too intensive. After about half a minute, the pencil noises stopped. Moira tried to sneak a peek at the paper, but Chatterbox was reticent in releasing it to her. Eventually she buried her face in her scarf and held the paper out to Moira.

Nothing was written on the paper. Instead a crude, but detailed drawing of a dog was scrawled across it. It was no adorable puppy like in the book either. Instead Chatterbox had drawn a much more Wasteland realistic hound.

"Well, it's very nice, Chatterbox," Moira said, praising the picture and rubbing her hand atop Chatterbox's head, sending the dirty blonde locks askew. Chatterbox lifted her head from her scarf and smiled bashfully, her cheeks reddening as Moira complimented the drawing. Moira grabbed another book from the pile. "You draw better than me, that's for sure," she said, holding the book out to Chatterbox.

It was a copy of the Wasteland Survival Guide. Moira flipped through the pages, showing the hand drawn images. "I wrote this myself," Moira told her as Chatterbox ran her fingers over the drawings, closely examining a hand-drawn diagram of how to break down a nine millimeter pistol. Moira kept talking as she looked at the pictures. "I had some help of course." Chatterbox looked up at her for clarification and Moira returned to the cover to tap the Vault symbol inscribed in the corner. Chatterbox's eyes widened in understanding and Moira nodded at her. "She did the research and I did the writing. And illustrations," she said as Chatterbox pointed between her drawing and the book. She was gesturing between her dog and a drawing of a four legged creature in the book. "No, that's a molerat, sweetie," Moira corrected, pointing at the text under it. "See how it has more letters?"

Chatterbox's expression darkened again and she pushed the book from her lap, crossing her arms unhappily. Moira gave her a hug and comforted her. "It's okay, don't worry. Molerat is seven letters, you don't have to know it yet." She drew back from Chatterbox and retrieved the pencil from earlier. "But 'dog' is our goal for today, okay?" She handed the pencil to Chatterbox and her drawing back and then opened the lesson book once more. This time she let Chatterbox see the word. "Just copy it for me."

The girl looked at the book unhappily for a few seconds and then at Moira who was smiling encouragingly at her. She slowly picked the pencil up once more and returned to her paper. Regularly checking between the book and her paper, Chatterbox began to painstakingly write. Moira watched her as the girl slowly, slowly drew the pencil across the page. Nearly a full minute of referencing the book for a three letter word. Just as Moira was going to ask if she was okay, Chatterbox suddenly snapped the pencil and hurled part of it across the room, sending it bouncing off of Eastwood's chest. She crumbled up the paper and dove off the countertop before Moira could stop her.

Nimble as a squirrel, she clambered onto a set of shelves and jumped from there into the rafters, disappearing amidst the dusty planks. "Chatterbox! It's okay, sweetie," Moira called up after her. There was no response other than a crumpled piece of paper being tossed down at her feet. Moira looked up trying to see where it had come from, but Chatterbox had crammed her tiny body into the darkest corners up there and couldn't be seen. After a few fruitless moments of searching, Moira bent down to pick up the paper. Smoothing it out in her hands, she saw Chatterbox's dog drawing and the label under it. She looked at it in puzzlement for a few seconds. It was backwards. The word, the letters, all a mirror reflection.

Moira was broken her way from her confusion as something metal hit the floor next to her. She looked away from the paper to the source of the noise. She leaned down to pick it up. It was the trigger to a handgun. Another piece of metal fell from the ceiling. The slide. More and more parts of a nine millimeter handgun fell from the ceiling, each piece pinging on the floor as it landed. Moira looked up in wonderment and then back to the pile of books.

The Wasteland Survival Guide was lying open to the weapons disassembly and maintenance section, the diagrams displayed. Just beyond the book was a pistol shaped hole in the dust on the shelf Chatterbox had used as a ladder. Moira looked back up with a wondrous smile. The girl had somehow snagged the gun from the shelf as she climbed to the ceiling. Her quick little fingers had taken it without anyone noticing. And now she was taking it apart piece by piece like a seasoned mercenary

As the final piece of the pistol fell to the floor, Chatterbox's face peered out from the shadows in the rafters. Her jaw was jut out firmly and proudly at her handiwork. Her little hand extended from the shadows and she dropped one final item.

The other half of the pencil. Before Moira could say anything, the girl pried up one of the ceiling boards and squeezed her skinny body through the hole and out on the roof. Moira could hear her tiny footprints as she raced across. The shop owner ran to the window just in time to see Chatterbox tightrope walk her way across the electrical cables connecting Craterside Supply to the building next door. The girl looked over her shoulder once at Moira before disappearing over the rooftops.

Moira didn't even notice Eastwood come up behind her until the guard asked, "You going to go after her?"

Moira gave him a smile and shook her head. "She'll be back," she said as she crossed her shop to a bookshelf. She ran her fingers along the spines, looking for one in particular. She hovered her fingers over a series of medical texts before settling on one about mental disorders. She pulled it from the shelf and carried it over to her reading chair. Cracking the book open, she started to read.

She had some brushing up to do before Chatterbox got back.

* * *

Chatterbox's path across the rooves of Megaton ended when she reached the wall. She cast a quick eye about to make sure no one was watching, but most people who were out and about were in the market, not along the wall. She jumped from the roof and caught herself in a hole in the metal shielding that comprised the wall. Pumping her tiny feet, trying to gain traction against the dingy metal, she pulled herself up and into the hole, finding herself in the interior of the wall. Using the scaffolding and crossbeams like monkey bars, she quickly descended to an equally small hole on the exterior of the wall. Sucking in her stomach she squeezed through before dropping the last few feet to the Wasteland dirt. She landed with a thud and rolled head over heels a few times before slowing her roll and once more looking about if anyone had seen her.

No one had. The nearest people would be the slave shanty who were on the far side of Megaton. And she wasn't worried about Stockholm, she figured out his patrol pattern ages ago. No, no, she was alone and unobserved.

She picked herself and started strolling off into the desert, keeping her eyes fixed on a nearby hill, crested with a large rock outcropping. She'd heard everyone talk about that hill when they talked about the person who lived there.

The Lone Wanderer, her hero.

Everyone in town talked about the hill when they discussed her. They'd all whisper about the door in the rock and the tunnel and the Vault. Her home. Where she had to be.

Chatterbox grinned and picked up her pace, her tiny feet brushing up dust as she started to run. Megaton was nice and all. Moira was great, the food was great, having a bed was great, but this… This was what she'd been walking towards.

She grinned giddily as she saw the door in the rock and hurried towards it. Leaning up on her tiptoes to reach the handle she swung it open and looked in. There was the tunnel. And at the end of the tunnel would be the Vault.

And _she_ ' _d_ be there. The Lone Wanderer. She'd be at her home.

Chatterbox stepped into the tunnel, letting the door swing shut behind her, plunging everything into a dim half-light. Each step she felt more and more elated as she came closer and closer to finding her idol. Her savior.

As the dim half-light deepened into a deeper, murky darkness, Chatterbox wasn't initially worried. She was a bit of a night person, her eyes always adjusted quickly in the dark. But then she heard it.

The growling. The snarling.

She froze in her tracks, trying to pinpoint how far away the noise was, but in the echo chamber the tunnel created it was impossible to tell. All she knew was that whatever monster the dark concealed, it was between her and her hero.

She swallowed, the fear creeping up her spine. Why would the tunnel have monsters in it? The Lone Wanderer lived here! She killed monsters, she wouldn't let one live outside her home, would she?

A cold chill ran across her neck as she remembered what Doc Church had said. The Lone Wanderer wasn't scared of monsters, she wasn't fazed by something as trivial as a Yao Guai or a Deathclaw. She wouldn't care if something lived by her front door. She'd just glare at it and chop it into pieces.

Chatterbox swallowed again as the monstrous cries picked up again. They seemed closer. Her tiny knees began to shake. This wasn't fair! A monster between her and the Vault, she'd come so close!

There! She could see it! The monster!

Chatterbox would've shrieked if she could and for a brief moment was thankful for her forced silence, but the thanks was quickly overshadowed in terror. Four eyes were glinting in the darkness and skittering towards her. They hovered back and forth along the dirt floor, crisscrossing from one side of the tunnel and back. The yowls and howls reached a crescendo and Chatterbox tried to force herself to run, but she couldn't. The closest her body got was to collapse backwards and fall to the floor. She threw her hands up and screwed her eyes tightly shut. She could still hear it though. And feel it. Its monstrous breath was running over her hands. She could feel its tongues tasting her. Its yips and barks-

Chatterbox opened her eyes. What?

And there it… they… were…

Puppies!

Chatterbox's face split open in a delighted smile as the two little animals crawled up into her lap and began dotting her faces with licks and kisses as they barked in excitement. She rolled in the dirt as they clambered over her, tripping and tangling with her. After some enthusiastic struggling she managed to pull them both off of her and started vigorously petting them, one hand for each.

She scratched their ears and the two closed their eyes in contentment, leaning closer and closer to her until they both tipped over into her lap. She watched them in wonder as they kept trying to snuggle further and further against her, slowly clambering on top of one another. Two puppies, shepherd mutts, a boy and girl, and mirror images of each other. Whereas one was predominantly grey with a black markings, the other was predominantly black with a grey markings. She felt them stepping on her thighs and from the size of their feet, she could tell they were going to be absolutely _huge_ when grown.

They were magnificent.

She hugged them tight to her chest, each one striving to lick her on the chin again. Incredible. Chatterbox knew the Lone Wanderer had her own dog, but to suddenly have two of her own! And finding them outside of her hero's home!? It was practically more joy than her tiny little frame could handle.

The dogs began to struggle in her grip as dogs were want to do when hugged and she let them slide from her grasp. They began dancing around her and jumping up and down, their little bodies plopping into the dirt every time they overbalanced. They sniffed and circled her, barking for her to get up. She hopped up, ignoring the dirt now matted in her dress and began jumping around with them, her smile widening.

Her puppies seemed to enjoy the game as well, but they began to circle and nudge her towards the exit back the way she'd come. She looked over her shoulder into the darkness towards where she knew the Vault to be for a moment and hesitated for a moment as her dogs tried to herd her away.

After a moment of indecision she trotted after them, playing grabbing at their tails, leaving the Vault behind her.

It wasn't like the Vault was going anywhere. And besides… there _might_ still be something hiding in the darkness.

Not that she was afraid. She wasn't afraid of the dark. She'd just let the puppies _think_ they were scaring her…Yeah.

Chatterbox and the puppies reached the door. The dogs began to paw and scratch at it, whining to be let out. Once more Chatterbox jumped for the handle and pushed it open. The two animals scrabbled out through the crack as it widened, Chatterbox hot on their heels. However, all three were blinded by the bright light of the Wasteland. They didn't see what, or who, was standing immediately on the far side of the door.

The trio all ran headlong into his legs, knocking him back into the dirt with a startled cry.

"Ah, what the hell!? You little twerp! Didn't no one ever tell you not to sneak up on a Tunnel Snake?"

* * *

 _A/N: Props to whoever can find all the perk references I make in this chapter. Also, now that you've read it, go check the chapter title. It's a stupid joke, I know, I should feel back, but I couldn't resist. Anyways, see you all next time. With Butch!_


	5. Put It On My Tab

The shanty town residents looked up from their work as they continued to arrange tents and shacks along Megaton's walls. Approaching was a guest to the city that would have been unusual anywhere in the Wasteland. One of those Vault suits was always a marker for interest.

Butch ignored the looks they gave him as he steered his way through the hodgepodge settlement, a look of calculated disinterest adorning his face. However, the mask was slipping with each step he took. He was becoming much more concerned with what was following along behind him.

"Damn it, girl. Leave me alone," he barked at Chatterbox as she ran alongside him, her puppies playfully trotting behind her heels. Butch stopped and whirled on her, bending down so his face was a mere inch from her. "Why are you following me!?"

Chatterbox said nothing, but her smile widened as Butch's Tunnel Snakes jacket opened a bit and revealed more of his Vault suit. She reached forward with a tiny hand to touch the blue material, but Butch smacked her hand away. She snatched her fingers back and scowled at him. At their feet, the puppies growled up at him.

Butch glanced down and growled right back. "Think I'm scared of you? I've been chewed on by bigger!" The puppies tripped over themselves to hide their faces in the hem of Chatterbox's skirt. Butch snorted as the tiny dogs quivered and turned to continue walking. Behind him he could hear all three still following.

As he approached the gate to the city, he caught sight of motion above and shielded his eyes to see Stockholm looking down at him. "Yo! Cock-holm, you wanna open the gate for me?"

Stockholm shook his head in disappointment at his luck at being Butch's welcoming party and leaned over the railing. "What? The Muddy Rudder stop serving drinks?"

"Piss off."

Sighing, Stockholm rolled his eyes. "I'm obligated to tell you that if you cause any trouble, _any trouble_ , and you will be thrown out on your ass. Again." The sniper reached over to his gate controls and pulled the switch. "Welcome to Megaton." Butch gave a sloppy salute and a sneer. Stockholm pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, "Asshole."

Butch chuckled at the expression on the sniper's face and looked down at Chatterbox who was at his side. "Well, it's been real, kid, but now it's time for you to fuck off." The gate continued to rumble open and Butch started to walk towards it, Chatterbox mirroring him step for step. Stopping, he shot her a glare before yelling up at Stockholm. "Hey! You want to hobble the kid for me before she enters your fair city? She might have diseases or something, I dunno."

Stockholm released his nose and opened his eyes, leaning further over the railing to see what Butch was talking about. Next to the churlish Vault Dweller was none other than Chatterbox. She waved up at him.

"Chatterbox? How'd you get out- You- Where the fuck did you get dogs!?" Stockholm asked, trying to figure out the girl's appearance on the exterior of the city. Especially with her new mutts. Their appearance was just disconcerting. Stockholm might not have had much of a mystic bone in body, but even this was too weird. After a moment of his brain trying to reconcile the odd little troop below him, he shook his head and said, "You know what, no, never mind, go on in." He waved his hands for both parties to continue.

"Wait, she lives here!?" Butch said in annoyance, looking down at the girl as she smirked up at him. "You've got to be kidding me," Butch said to himself as Stockholm gave him a sarcastic salute and went back to his post, leaving the Tunnel Snake to hunch his shoulders and slouch his way into the city, his pintsized retinue slouching along behind with shoulders just as hunched.

"Hi, Chatterbox."

"Hey there, Chatterbox. Nice pups!"

"Hello, Chatterbox, how are you?"

Butch's frown deepened as they walked. Everyone in the goddamned city had a smile for this kid. He was being utterly ignored. It hadn't been that long since he'd been through here with the Wanderer. Apparently long enough for all the smiling idiots to forget his rep in favor of some child. The way they all greeted her was getting on his nerves. Not a one had even a dirty look for him.

"Butch."

He stopped at the sound of his name. Or more specifically the tone it was said with. Spinning around to see Sheriff Simms with his arms crossed menacingly, Butch sighed in relief.

"Finally, somebody," he cried, tugging the lapels of his jacket and strutting over to the sheriff. "Somebody here knows what's up!" Butch held his arms out wide with a shit-eating grin as he approached the sheriff. "How, ya been, Lucas?" he asked, already enjoying the way the sheriff's brow furrowed further and further. Each word caused his face to grow stormier and stormier. To Butch's eye the man looked just primed to explode. That was until…

"Where in the Wasteland did you get those dogs?"

"God fucking damn it!" Butch shouted as the sheriff blew him off and stared open mouthed at his diminutive stalker and her animals. "Even you," he ranted, "So called protector of this town. And here you are letting me walk around un-harassed. Downright sloppy, Simms."

But the sheriff was paying no attention. He'd knelt down, one knee in the dirt, and was looking at Chatterbox with a cross between horror and wonder. The little girl was blushing at the intense scrutiny and had tucked her cheeks below her scarf. Her dogs were trying to clamber up into Simms' lap, yipping all the while.

Butch shook his head in disgust and twisted around to leave the two in the dust. "Un-fucking-believable," he muttered as he walked out of Megaton's main square and up into the catwalks. "Two mangy animals and some brat and everyone forgets what's what." He stomped his way up one of the walkways, his boots banging on the metal. He glanced idly at the Wanderers old house as he passed underneath it. He stopped for a moment to look up at it.

As soon as he stopped walking, he heard it. The scuff of tiny clawed feet on metal. Butch looked over his shoulder and saw the brown mutt sitting about ten feet behind him. It was staring up at something just behind one of the building's walls lining the catwalk. Butch rolled his eyes as a little, grubby hand slowly reached out to wrap its fingers in the puppy's fur and slide it into cover.

Despite the intense annoyance he was feeling over the girl following him, Butch wasn't about to let her follow him to the Wanderer's front door. Especially considering the state he'd seen her in last. From the blood bath she'd left in Rivet City, she wasn't in her right mind. He didn't know what she was capable of. And he wouldn't risk some snot-nosed kid on the Wanderer's mood.

So a drink was in order instead. With any luck Moriarty wouldn't let the kid in the bar.

Cutting away from the residences, Butch made his way to Moriarty's Saloon. Occasionally he'd glance behind him to see Chatterbox scrabble with her pups to get behind something. He kept catching her peeking out from around corners. She wasn't nearly as sneaky as she thought she was.

As he approached the bar, he heard her bare feet run up behind him, followed by the clacking of her dogs' claws, but as he soon as he turned back he was surprised. Paused with his mouth open, half way through forming a curse, Butch looked down in shock.

A ragged box was placed directly behind him. And the box was growling at him.

Butch's mouth tightened into an irritated line. She had to be fucking with him now. Butch wound up and kicked the box, sending it tumbling back down the catwalk. He could hear startled yips from the dogs and muffled thuds as Chatterbox went skidding out of the box. She rolled to a halt and fixed him with angry glare as she gathered her dogs into her arms and ran her fingers along their heads to calm them down. Giving her a snarky grin and a wave, Butch turned for the door, but he was surprised to see the little girl jut out her chin and hop back to her feet, pulling her dogs with her. She pumped her tiny legs and sprinted up next to him.

Butch had to give her an appreciative nod. She was persistent if not annoying. Glaring at him, Chatterbox reached up, her fingers stretching out to grab the door knob into Moriarty's. She pulled the door open and turned her nose up at him. Butch snorted as she slid inside ahead of him. With his irritation slowly being replaced at the kid's sheer attitude, he pulled the door open wider and followed her in.

The oppressive, blinding glare of the Wasteland sky was cut off as he stepped in the cool, shadowed interior of the bar. So used to the Muddy Rudder, Butch was surprised at the relative vacancy of the establishment. An old man, Butch had seen there before, but never cared enough to meet was seated next to the radio, angrily fiddling with the nobs. The bar's ghoul bartender was slowly cleaning glasses, a vacant expression on his face. The fiery red head, he'd seen the Wanderer hook up with a few times sat across from him, a cigarette hanging loosely from her fingertips. An equally absent expression adorned her face. And lastly, Moriarty himself was seated at a table surrounded by ledgers and piles of caps.

The bar owner scrutinized Butch for a moment, but he wasn't going to chase off a paying customer. Even if that customer was Butch. However, the acid tongued old man couldn't help, but say, "Nice posse, Tunnel Snake," as he passed before going right back to his money.

Butch flipped him off, but didn't say anything. Instead he steered for the bar, pulling out a stool and swinging a leg over it. Next to him Chatterbox clambered up onto the stool next to him. It was almost as tall as she was. The puppies curled up below her.

Tapping the counter with his knuckles, Butch caught Gob's attention, snapping the ghoul from his reverie. "I'll have a beer," Butch ordered. He glanced to his side where Chatterbox was perched and nodded his head at her. "One for my friend too."

Gob grunted as Butch tossed the caps on the bar top. He reached over to the taps and filled up a glass of beer for Butch and set it down in front of him while reaching under the countertop and grabbing a Nuka Cola for Chatterbox. He set the bottle down in front of her and Butch fixed it with a look.

"That… is not a beer." He turned his eyes on Gob turned his head to the side, mad dogging the bartender.

Gob's eyes widened and his mouth quivered. "I- I'm not- She's a kid!" he protested, his scratchy voice rising an octave in panic.

Butch stared him down for a few more moments before glancing at Chatterbox. "You want a beer?" Chatterbox eyed him wordlessly. Turning back to Gob, Butch raised his eyebrows and said, "Well, she's not saying no."

Looking at Butch, trying to decide if he was serious or not, Gob took a step back from the bar. The bartender felt the urge to laugh, Butch had to be playing some sort of asinine prank on him, but the Tunnel Snake wasn't looking away.

He couldn't be serious. But then… he hung out with the Wanderer.

Gob hurried to fill up another pint and set it in front of the girl.

Chatterbox looked at the beer and leaned forward to sniff it. She made a face and looked up at Butch. Looking sagely down at the girl, Butch nodded and said, "Good point. It is shit beer. I'll take one for the team." He grabbed her glass and slid it next to his. Butch's eyes flicked sideways and fixed Gob with a wicked grin.

"I-if you were gonna take it, why wouldn't you just order two beers?" Gob mumbled weakly, his shoulders drooping. He jerked upright as Butch seemed to hear him.

"Two beers? Great idea!"

Gob once more found himself being stared down at Butch as the young man waited expectantly, two fingers held up. The ghoul froze up, hoping, praying, that Butch would suddenly start laughing, but instead he just kept staring. It didn't help that the girl was next to him imitating his pose and face, two of her tiny fingers held out.

He swallowed dryly and hurried to fill up two more glasses and place them in front of Butch. "That- that'll be another thirty caps," he said after clearing his throat.

"Thirty caps?" Butch asked incredulously, a small smile flickering across his face as he exchanged a shocked grin with Chatterbox. "But I only ordered the one beer for myself. The rest are hers," he said pointing at her.

Gob's face fell in alarm as he looked at Chatterbox who stared right back at him. The ghoul's eyes flicked between Butch and the girl. "I-I don't- But you- you- I-"

The bartender's face fell further as the snap of a book being slammed shut sounded from Moriarty's table. The grizzled old man was fixing the ghoul with a stern glare.

"Gob, why in the name of all that is holy am I hearing your voice?" he hissed as the bartender quaked under his gaze. Moriarty waited as Gob mentally debated whether it was worse to speak again or not answer the question. Seeing no reply was forthcoming, Moriarty fixed Butch with a stern look as he tilted back a beer. "And you. Pay for your drinks, or get out of me bar. And you can take the brat with you. I'm not nearly as enamored with her as the rest of the idjits in this town."

Chatterbox stuck her tongue out at Moriarty causing Butch to laugh, mid-drink and spray liquid all over Gob as he cackled at the furious expression on Moriarty's face. "HA! Ten minutes ago you were the worst, now I never want you to go away," Butch laughed, nudging elbows with Chatterbox. "I've never met someone who could make him lose his lucky charms without saying a word!"

"Adorable," Moriarty seethed as he walked up to the bar. "Now pay up or get out."

"You can just put it on my tab," Butch replied with a flippant wave of his hand. He reached for another of his beers, but Moriarty's hand atop the glass kept it firmly on the bar top.

"You don't have a tab."

Relinquishing his grip on the one glass, Butch simply switched to another and took a sip as he shrugged. "Really? I remember having one every other time I've been in this dump."

Moriarty smiled thinly. "That's because every other time you were in 'this dump' you had a certain someone with you." Moriarty glanced at Chatterbox. "And your new friend isn't nearly as… persuasive as she was."

Butch smirked at the bar owner. "Are you really that afraid of dismemberment?" he asked. Moriarty's eyes narrowed and Butch's grin widened. "Oh come on, the Wanderer's not _that_ scary. I could go get her, see if I have a tab or not, does that work?" he remarked conversationally.

Next to him Chatterbox perked up, focusing all her attention on Butch as the conversation took an interesting turn to her ears.

Moriarty's face soured and Gob practically trembled behind him. But it was Nova who spoke. The prostitute seemed to be shaken from her daze. Her eyes flitting nervously between Butch and Moriarty. "She… she's not back is she?"

In surprise Butch looked at her. "What d'you mean not back?"

Nova took a deep drag on her cigarette, her hand shaking, but she didn't reply.

With a slimy chuckle, Moriarty walked around the bar and rubbed Nova's shoulders as the woman tried to steady herself. With a grin, Moriarty said, "Nova's favorite customer dropped town weeks ago. She hasn't been seen since!"

It was Moriarty's turn to smirk as Butch's brow furrowed in consternation. He'd just seen her in Rivet City. Where the hell had she gone to if not here? Where else could she go? Lost in thought, Butch fished around in his pocket and threw some caps on the counter without counting. Moriarty, satisfied with the amount backed off and returned to his table and his books.

Taking a small sip from one of his beers, Butch grimaced before slamming the drink down his throat and pounding the glass back to the table. "Where did you go, Nosebleed?" he asked softly. Next to him, Chatterbox reached up onto the bar and wrapped her hands around another of his beers and slid it in front of him to replace the empty cup. Butch smiled and nodded, accepting the drink. "Thanks, kid."

Slowly sipping this one, Butch began to talk to Chatterbox who kept rapt attention, her legs crossed as she perched atop the barstool. "I don't know where she could've gone," Butch said. "She wasn't in no state to go much of anywhere. Got herself beat up good and she managed to get her head turned all around again." He sighed and swilled the beer in his glass. "If she'd just stuck around with us…" He took another deep pull from the glass, finishing it and grabbing his last. "Jesus, kid," he mumbled, "Just listen to me. I sound like some school girl or some shit just cause I can't find a friend."

"With any luck she's bled out in a ditch somewhere!"

Butch slowly set his glass down on the tabletop and rotated in his chair to glare at the person who spoke. It was the old man, Nathan Vargas, who'd yelled from his chair next to the radio.

"The hell you say old man? Don't think I heard you."

Nathan's face soured and he glared resentfully at Butch. "Your 'friend', the so called Lone Wanderer and Hero of the Wasteland! She destroyed everything!" he shouted, his wrinkled face quivering as Butch rose from his seat with his fists clenched at his sides. "She wiped out the last remaining pure thing in this world. She destroyed the Enclave! She killed the president!"

"She saved your ass, old man. All of you!" Butch retorted. "Now I suggest you shut your damned mouth before I put my fist in it!"

"Hoodlum!"

Butch ignored the jibe and waved his hand dismissively at Nathan. As he was turning back to the bar, Nathan yelled one more time. "That degenerate bitch deserves everything she's got coming to her!"

Halfway through turning around, a glass in his hand to hurl at the ranting old man, Butch was surprised as he felt something brush past his elbow. Chatterbox's bare feet padded across the wooden bar floor as she ran over and with all the force she could muster planted her foot in Nathan's shin.

Howling bloody murder, Nathan tried to pull himself further into his chair and away from the girl as she hammered her tiny fists at him. "Get her off me! Get her off me!"

Laughing and taking a swig of beer, Butch leaned back to watch as the old man was pelted with tiny hits. Next to him Moriarty had gotten up and walked behind the bar. "Butch," he said meaningfully. Barely sparing him a brief glance, Butch focused on the 'fight' as Chatterbox's dogs raced over. Their high pitched barks joining with Nathan's squeals.

"Butch," Moriarty repeated more firmly, this time accompanied by the sound of metal hitting wood. Looking again, Butch saw the barkeep's hand resting on the pistol he'd just placed on the bar top. "Get out."

Butch sneered and polished off his beer. "Fucking have it your way, Moriarty. I thought it was pretty entertaining," he replied flippantly before walking over and hoisting Chatterbox up under one arm, her arms still flailing at Nathan. "Come on, kid. We're too classy for this joint."

Walking backwards towards the door and kicking it open with his heel, Butch flipped off the bar. Under his arm, Chatterbox was scowling fiercely and held both her hands up with the same obscene gesture.

And with that, they were gone. Once more leaving the saloon in sullen silence.

Outside the bar, Butch finally released Chatterbox and set her back on her feet. The girl immediately took several steps towards the bar, her scrawny arms tensed. Butch planted a hand on her head and turned her around.

"Forget them, kid. They ain't worth the effort," he admonished, shaking his head and leaning back on the railing of the catwalk. With a frown, Chatterbox acquiesced and joined Butch next to the railing. She plopped down next to him, letting her puppies climb into her lap so she could rather aggressively pet them while all three glared daggers at the bar.

"Seriously, those fuckers don't know what they're talking about," Butch said. He sighed and softly repeated, "They really don't." He bumped Chatterbox with his knee so she would look up at him. "And they never will. They'll never know her. Never know everything she's been through. And everything she's done to keep them safe."

Chatterbox leaned up against his leg as he talked about the Lone Wanderer. His words washed over her and flooded her with relief. She'd been so worried hearing all those people in the bar talk about her. She'd known they had to be wrong, but hearing Butch talk about the Lone Wanderer was comforting.

"She'll come strolling back into town one day. If she doesn't, then god help whoever's causing trouble somewhere else. Cause she'll make them wish they weren't." Standing up from the railing, Butch leaned down to pull Chatterbox up as well. "Until then, we have to keep on keeping on without her. She's fixed enough shit, let us handle the rest."

Chatterbox nodded at him in agreement.

Butch ruffled his fingers through her hair and patted her on the head. "Good. Glad we're on the same page. Now where the fuck do you live? I've got shit to do and I don't need you tagging along."

Chatterbox glanced up at him in alarm, but Butch was smirking at her and he playfully poked her in the side of the head. She smiled bashfully at him and pulled her scarf up over her mouth before lightly punching him in the leg. She turned on her heel and started meandering off in the direction of Moira's store.

"Yeah, alright, see you around kid," Butch murmured as she disappeared with her dogs. He straightened up and looked out over Megaton. His scanning eyes slowed and fell on the Wanderers house. "Where are you?" he said to himself before looking out over the walls towards Vault 101. Sighing, he started his walk. While she might not be here, there were still some people in the region he should go see. On her behalf if nothing else.


	6. Explosive

Moira's footsteps echoed through the metal scaffolding of one of Megaton's numerous catwalks, her weathered, work boots clunking along with her meandering stride as she hummed tunelessly. She'd been walking around for about ten minutes after she'd discovered that her erstwhile helper, Chatterbox, had disappeared.

It probably had something to do with the fact that she'd promised to feed the girl sometime around noon. Of course the promise had been made while Moira was elbows deep in an engine she didn't fully comprehend, but that was neither here nor there and Moira had yet to connect Chatterbox's disappearance with her own scatterbrained focus.

But the sun had set and eventually it was Moira's own hunger that had forced her away from the components and circuit boards. The engine really was a magnificent beast of machinery. Moira hoped that it would be able to assist Walter in his upkeep of Megaton's water supply. The engine could certainly power the pumps _and_ its built in computational systems could manage the water pressure for the whole town.

Seeing as the last help Walter had received with the pipes was, well, it was from the Lone Wanderer herself once upon a time. Everyone had been quite shocked to see it too. Shortly after she'd arrived in town (though she might not use 'arrived' after Stockholm shot her), Walter had asked her in passing for some assistance. While no one in town quite feared her at the time, she hadn't managed to ingratiate herself either. To most she was just a bitch with a hair trigger temper.

Then the water was working again.

Moira supposed that could have certainly been the root of everything in the town at least. The Wanderer had fixed the pipes. She'd just done it and while no one could be sure if it was out of the goodness of her heart or what, they certainly had running water again.

Her aimless walk took a sharp turn as she thought of the Wanderer and she started marching her way up towards her home. She couldn't think of it as anything other than her home even if the girl in question hadn't been seen in months. She doubted that her particular home would be given away anytime soon.

Unlike Jericho's. The hand written for-sale sign Simms had nailed to the door of Jericho's former domicile stood loud and proud even in the cool darkness of the evening. But not the Wanderer's. No… Moira thought Megaton had enough respect to leave that to her for whenever she eventually rolled back through town. Not to mention there was a robot armed with a flamethrower puttering about the inside that wouldn't let anyone else near the domicile.

So it was to Moira's delighted surprise that she saw Wadsworth floating about outside the home, his robotic arms flying around trying to corral two small dogs.

Chatterbox was seated on the ground staring up at the robotic butler with rapt attention as he rambled on and on. "And so I look to her and say, 'Mistress, what on earth are you doing?' and she turns to me with a grenade in one hand and a bloody rag in the other and says, 'Cleaning.' Hah! Haha!" Chatterbox grinned as the robot's spherical body shook with mechanized laughter. She didn't even notice Moira approach and plop down next to her until Wadsworth saluted her with one of his arms and cordially greeted her. "Good evening, Miss Brown! A pleasure as always to see you."

"Good to see you as well, Wadsworth," Moira returned as Chatterbox saw her and immediately started to clamber into her lap. Moira ruffled her hair and said, "Are you bothering Wadsworth?"

The robotic laughed once more, his eye sockets rolling. "Not at all, mum. Not even a peep from the young miss!"

Well, that would follow, Moira thought with a slight frown and a shrug. But Chatterbox didn't seem to mind the comment. Shifting Chatterbox to be more comfortably placed in her lap, Moira asked, "So she's just been keeping you company than? It's so nice to see you out and about!"

Wadsworth mechanized limbs all retracted slightly and the robot's thruster coughed once. "Well, yes, I mean, of course, mum," he stuttered to explain. "It's just- I heard these filthy mongrels-" His eyes shot up and he quickly corrected, "these fine specimens barking and well, I thought it might have been…"

The robot trailed off and his limbs drifted loosely again. The pups continued to try and bite at the robot, but without the constant flickering motion they lost interest and drifted over to Chatterbox and Moira. The brown one tried to climb up onto Moira as well, but Chatterbox swatted him on the nose and pointed imperiously at the ground. With a whine the dog sank onto his haunches even as his sister sat primly on Moira's opposite side.

Wadsworth chuckled at the sight. "She'll be a terror once she has them fully trained," he observed. "Just like her."

Moira's eyebrows rose a little at the robot's thoughts. Wadsworth had always been a little eccentric, but free opinions like that were quite far from his original programming. Moira reached forward and took hold of one of his metal pincers. "She'll come back. She always does."

All three of his eyes zoomed in on the hand holding his and he was quiet for a moment. "Thank you, mum," he said softly. He snatched his hand away and with a burst of fire from his thruster bounced into the air. "But of course she will," he cheered more vigorously. "And there's so much to be done still!" He rotated on his axis and floated back towards the house. "Clean linens, clean floors, clean windows! Clean, clean, clean. And of course I'll have to try to get the stench of that four legged beast out of her bed. Don't know why she lets it sleep with her."

The robot's energy steeped off into dark mutterings about the Wanderer's dog as he retreated back into the house and closed the door after him. Chatterbox waved goodbye from Moira's lap before craning her neck back to look up at Moira. With a finger Moira bopped her on the nose and lifted her to her feet.

"Come on you, I promised you food like hours ago," she said, pushing herself up and taking Chatterbox's hand.

With hands swinging in between them and the dogs leading the way, they made their back down through the walkways of Megaton deeper and deeper into the crater until they touched dirt. The warm glow of the Brass Lantern illuminated the crater in a soft, orange light. The dinner rush must have just ended because the tables were mostly empty other than Billy and Maggie Creel seated together and what looked like Lucy West slumped at the bar. The Stahl siblings were scattered around the restaurant.

Leo gave a friendly wave and "Hiya, ladies!" as they walked up. Andy only nodded courteously and went back to the glasses he was drying. The door into the restaurant banged open as Jenny backed out through it, a crate of various bottles of Nuka and liquor clinking around in it. With some effort she set it down and slid it under the bar.

"Evening, Moira," she called, standing up with a groan and massaging her shoulder. "Bit late for a meal, isn't it?"

Moira shrugged with a grin and sat down on a stool next to Lucy. Chatterbox scrabbled up on the stool one more over before sidling across and depositing herself back in Moira's lap.

"Never too late for a healthy meal! Especially when you're busy growing up big and strong!" Moira patted Chatterbox's stomach. While Chatterbox was by no means 'well-fed', she certainly wasn't anywhere near as gaunt as she'd been when she'd arrived on Megaton's doorstep.

"You forgetting to feed that kid, Moira?" Billy called from his table. He was leaning back from his table, several empty plates littering it. His one eye narrowed suspiciously at the inventor. Despite her being the only one to volunteer to take Chatterbox in, Billy Creel never gave her any slack. He was in fact one of the most vocally dubious of her ability to raise a child. It probably had something to with his own adopted daughter, Maggie, who sat across from him.

But his constant jabs never got to Moira. It was just Billy's way of looking out for Chatterbox and Moira was perfectly fine with that. Even if others grew tired of his constant remarks.

"Billy Creel, you keep your opinions to yourself," Jenny warned from behind the bar. "Moira's doing just fine with the girl." Billy put a hand over his heart, suitably chagrined for his behavior and turned back to Maggie. Jenny fixed him with a stare for a couple more seconds before looking back to Moira. "I'm done for the evening, Moira, so if you two need food, talk to Leo."

Moira nodded enthusiastically as Jenny untied her apron and lit up a cigarette, stepping out from around the bar to relax. Leo stepped up in Jenny's place and asked, "What can I get for you?"

"Whatever's hot," Moira replied, once more trying to shift Chatterbox, but the girl stubbornly kept going limp so she could remain where she was. Leo chuckled at the behavior and whirled around to the grill to scoop up a few plates of whatever had been hunted that day.

"And here we are," he said, spinning back with two plates full of steaming hot Instamash and grilled molerat. He slid the plates down in front of them before feigning like an idea had just struck. "Ah! But I almost forgot." Leo bent under the bar and made a show of rummaging around for cans and stood back up with two in his hands.

He held them out to Chatterbox, one a can of Cram and the other a small tin of Abraxo cleaner. "I always forget… which of these is your favorite?" His grin faltered slightly as Chatterbox studied the two, a look of consternation on her face.

She pursed her lips and frowned at the foreign letters until Moira lightly tapped her on her left hand. Chatterbox glanced up at her before snatching the can on the left. Immediately she smiled as her fingers recognized the can's opening mechanism.

Moira thanked Leo who bowed graciously. He turned to Lucy. "And what about you, Lucy… anything else for you, or are you closing out for the evening?" he asked, placing his hand on the bar next to Lucy's head.

"Gemme another round," Lucy slurred, the stench of alcohol permeating her breath.

"I think you've had enough," Andy said, fixing Leo with a stern look and shaking his head ever so slightly.

Lucy pushed herself up onto an elbow. The struggle causing her to sway. Both Chatterbox and Moira leaned away as it looked like the blonde was going to topple right from her seat.

"I said another," Lucy repeated, emphasizing her point with a fist to the bar. "Bitch takes my money and disappears, I deserve to get a little *hic* drunk." She tried to reach forward over the bar, but her motions kicked her own stool out from under her and dropped to the ground.

"Fuck it!" she shouted from flat on her back.

Billy hopped to his feet to help her up, grabbing one arm as Leo came around the bar and grabbed her other.

"Enough of that language, Lucy. Kids are present," Billy chided, but Lucy wasn't having any of that as the two men tried to pull her to a chair.

"Fuck you, Billy! And fuck her too in every fucking hole!" Lucy grumbled loudly as she stumbled against them.

Moira's eyebrows shot up as Lucy ripped into a drunken tirade, Chatterbox perfectly mimicking the expression. "Is she going to be alright?" Moira asked out of the side of her mouth to Andy.

The eldest Stahl sibling sighed and frowned sternly as his brother and Billy tried to prop Lucy up. "She hired the Wanderer to check on her family in Arefu weeks ago. Hasn't heard anything since."

If anyone had been paying attention to anything other than Lucy's antics they would have noticed Chatterbox stop copying Moira's faces and look to Andy with eager attention at the mention of the Wanderer.

"Well, no one ever knows when she comes in right?" Moira asked, puzzled at how extreme Lucy's reaction was.

"Traders came in with news," Andy replied, continuing to wash dishes. "Arefu was wiped out. One survivor and he says a woman fitting the Wanderer's description was the last one to pass through." He set the plate he was scrubbing down and braced his hands on the bar. "Said she threatened him."

Moira rolled her eyes and giggled. "Well, that's not unusual at _all_ ," she said. "She threatens everybody." Moira made another bemused face and started tucking into her meal.

Andy dismissed her incredulity and went back to his dishes, hoping the conversation was over and he could get on with his evening, but Lucy was still shouting at Billy and Leo.

"That fucking whore killed my family!" she yelled. "I know she did! I know it!" She tried to shake Leo and Billy away, but failed miserably. She turned her irate eye on Billy. "Oh, come the fuck on Billy, it's not like you like her!"

Billy shrugged and kept a restraining hand on Lucy. "Doesn't change the fact that you're drunk. I mean, I wouldn't put cold-blooded murder too far out of her wheelhouse, but-"

The sound of Jenny's hand slapping loudly against a table cut him off and drew everyone's attention over to the shadowed corner of the restaurant that she'd been trying to relax in. She was glaring fiercely across the restaurant.

"I don't care what you think you know…" she said, her voice low and warning. "There will be no bad mouthing the Lone Wanderer in my restaurant."

At the bar Andy nodded in agreement as did Leo. The Stahl's were uniform on this and the look on Jenny's face dared anyone to go against them on it. Billy raised his hands in surrender and made his way back to his seat.

That just left Lucy.

"Oh, come on, Jenny. Just cause that bitch stopped Jericho from dropping your pants, doesn't mean-"

"Lucy! Shut your fucking mouth!"

To everyone's surprise it was Andy who finally snapped. The usually reserved Stahl stood fuming at the bar, his face twisted in anger. Even in her drunken condition, Lucy was so stunned that she slowly closed her mouth and lapsed into silence.

The bar stilled in the silence. Even Moira had stopped eating after the outburst, her generally unstoppable cheer subdued somewhat.

Lucy was stepping on some mighty shaky ground by bringing up Jenny's very near rape at Jericho's hands. It wasn't something that the town of Megaton liked brought up because it didn't particularly paint any of them in a favorable light.

She should know, she'd been there just like everyone else.

It was no secret that Jericho could handle himself in a fight. Megaton had come to rely on him as a security measure. His past as a raider had earned him some credibility in the Wasteland and that kept some danger far away from the town. Evergreen Mills seemed to just let them alone as a sign of some sort of respect.

Anyone else stupid enough to come calling in the town or try and cause trouble, well, Jericho was one of the meanest, sons of bitches around and he was always ready to throw down. So he was a hell of a deterrent.

That led to him getting an overinflated ego and sense of worth. Jericho had a house nicer than most of the residents in Megaton. A place to lay his head that was nicer than the Wasteland, so he'd never be tempted to go raiding again. He drank for free at Moriarty's and ate what he wanted at the Brass Lantern, not that either business were fans of that.

Point being, Jericho got used to having his way within the walls of Megaton, so after one evening of drinks at the Saloon, he came calling on the Brass Lantern and decided he wanted something that wasn't on the menu.

Past this, Moira couldn't say for certain what had happened, she'd been fiddling with a new contraption to filter radiation by the bomb. Other members of the town filled it in from there. Jericho wasn't exactly secret about his advances. But no one made a move to stop him. They were all too nervous to try, afraid of pissing him off and sending him on his way. Instead, most people just started to give the restaurant space and back away.

Jenny's brothers were the only ones who got in his way, but Jericho had dropped them in a matter of seconds. Neither man was an accomplished fighter and Jericho was ruthless.

To Jenny, it had about seemed that was it, that Jericho was going to have his way with her. Except there was still one person seated at the bar, the new girl in town, the Lone Wanderer.

She had just kept eating as Jericho made his way through Andy and Leo, ignoring the scuffle. But as soon as he'd so much as brushed a finger along Jenny's arm, she had reached over the bar and hauled him across it.

It was the sound of Jericho slamming into the ground that had finally snapped Moira away from her work. She watched as the Wander calmly placed the knife she'd been using to eat at his throat and lean down to whisper something in his ear.

Sheriff Simms had intervened before blood was spilled, but Moira (and the rest of the town for that matter) had no delusions that the Wanderer was more than prepared to slit Jericho's throat that day. That was only the first of many times that she'd tried to kill him.

Since then any bad mouthing of the Lone Wanderer was sacrilegious at the Brass Lantern. At least it had been up until Lucy opened her drunken mouth.

"Wait until she saves _your_ neck, Lucy," Jenny hissed. "Oh wait she has. Multiple times. So show some respect." She turned her shoulder and went back to her cigarette.

No one wanted to move even as the chilled moment started to just become an uncomfortable silence as everyone did their best to ignore one another. Except Chatterbox who was glancing around in frustration as no one would talk more.

She crossed her arms with a huff and slid deeper into Moira's lap, slouching with a fierce frown. Moira tried to coax her with a bite of food, but Chatterbox refused to open her mouth and swatted the morsel away.

As her hand brushed it though, a monstrous rumble tore through the air like thunder. Plates and glasses shook and the sound could be felt more than heard. Chatterbox stared in shocked wonder at her hand even as everyone else looked to the southwest where the sound had come from.

A red and orange streak was lighting up the sky, but the sun had set several hours prior. Another explosion could be heard and the light intensified.

Around the square and all across Megaton, doors opened and their residents stepped out cautiously, hesitation etched onto their sleepy faces.

"The hell was that?" Leo Stahl asked, looking to his brother. Andy shook his head, equally stunned.

"Wait- what are you-" Moira cried as Chatterbox slid off of her and scampered away. "Chatterbox!"

Everyone watched as the girl dashed off towards the wall. They looked at one another before running after. The people of Megaton flocked to their wall, massing around the stairs and ladders leading up its side. Ahead of them, Chatterbox nimbly climbed up the exposed bars and grates, pulling her body up even as the adults behind her lagged behind.

She pulled herself up and over the lip onto Stockholm's sniper platform. The man was standing wide-eyed as he looked out into the Wasteland, his rifle lying forgotten by his chair.

"My god…" he gasped, his eyes locked on the horizon.

Slowly, the top of the wall filled with more and more. Moira, found her way to Chatterbox and picked her up, holding the girl tight to her chest. The Stahls, Billy Creel, Lucas Simms, even Moriarty, they all stood there, all equally silent.

Below them, the residents of the shanty were leaving their tents and amassing as well, a ripple of apprehension running through the former slaves as they collectively tensed.

Even the townspeople could feel it, the sense of creeping foreboding.

Tenpenny Tower was burning.

* * *

 _A/N: Oh me. Oh my. What's this? An event that wasn't seen in "Shattered Illusions"? Things be getting cray-cray after this._


	7. L-I-E

The air hung heavy in Megaton. The midday sun had brought with it a stifling heat that crushed down on the city's inhabitants. Simms had authorized a seizure of crucial parts for Moira to get her new engine online and the mechanic had gleefully set about pilfering the last few pieces. Thankfully, it had only been a few key pieces of electronics. Most of which she'd pulled from Moriarty's irritated arms under the stern eyes of the sheriff.

But it was necessary. Maybe not necessary to take 90% of the parts from Moriarty, but the pros far outweighed the cons in Moira's eyes. With the new engine and Walter's careful supervision, the town's piping was kicked into overdrive, pulling purified water from the reservoir and across the city at record paces. Taps opened and parched throats drank down the water. Billy Creel even burst a pipe and sent a geyser of water up into the air for the kids to play under. Though many an adult took a moment to walk through it as well.

Moira surveyed her handiwork with a satisfied grin. People were so happy now! She wiped a hand across her forehead to dispose of a few beads of sweat, but only succeeded in dragging a black streak of grease in a long stripe below her hairline. She was glad the engine was working so well. She still theorized she could have used it to supercharge some old cooling coils to lower the ambient air temperature throughout town, but everyone had seemed dubious.

She stepped back into her shop and grabbed two cans of water from her cooler. She cracked one open for herself and tossed the other over to Eastwood.

"Think fast, Eastwood," she called and took a deep gulp of water. The mercenary had forgone his usual standing space and reclined in a rickety chair with one of the shop's few still functioning fans pointed at him. His heavy armored leather jacket hung from the back of his chair. With a lackluster grunt he caught the can and held it to his head. Below him came the slight snores from the pups as they napped in Eastwood's shadow.

Sighing, Moira took another slower sip and shrugged out of the shoulders of her jumpsuit, tying the sleeves around her waist. Eastwood had the right idea. Now that the work was done, she too was beginning to feel the heat as well. Slowing down and hiding away from it was a good plan.

Awkwardly hopping from one foot to the other to pull her work boots off, she crossed the room to the windowsill and leaned against it. She spied Harden Simms, Maggie Creel, and a few other kids splashing around in the burst pipe, laughing away. The novelty of being able to play in water that wasn't also host to a radioactive bomb kept them energized while the adults crawled into the shade to doze.

However, there was still one of the children who was not enjoying the heat relief. Moira fished a pair of binoculars from the hat rack next to the window and held them up to her eyes. Yep, still where she was earlier. Chatterbox was seated up in the bird's nest with Stockholm. She'd initially been enamored with the water and splashed about it with her puppies, but soon enough, she'd returned to the wall to stare out into the wastes.

Chatterbox was intensely focused on the drama earlier in the week. For all of the day before and now intent on adding today as well, she'd resolutely look out over the desert in the direction Tenpenny Tower had once stood. Adding to her frustration, she seemed irked that no one else apparently cared.

Megaton had been plenty tense immediately after the action. Guns were passed out from the armory, watches were formed, Weld and Steel had even been sent out beyond their usual patrol pattern to reconnoiter the surrounding area. But with an entire day of nothing and nobody coming anywhere near the town, business as usual had resumed. Not for Chatterbox though. She wasn't ready to give up.

"I... will be right back," Moira announced, already moving for the door before Eastwood gave a grunt in acknowledgment. Bursting out the door, Moira hissed as her bare feet made contact with the sizzling metal of the catwalk. She jumped off the metal to some of the wood lining the walkway and glanced over her shoulder at her shop and her boots inside.

Moira smiled and turned her back on the shoes. This would be more fun anyhow. Even to those who knew her best or had been in Megaton the longest, just about anyone in town stopped for a moment to watch Moira Brown jump, spring, and leap from plank to plank down the catwalk until her feet met dirt and then continue walking along like nothing at all had happened.

Thankfully, the wall leading to Stockholm's perch had fallen into shade as the day had progressed and the ladder was sufficiently cool for hands and feet to use. Moira shimmied her way up, pausing to glance down at the town once or twice. She immediately noticed several areas of repair and improvement that could be made whether or not anyone else agreed. She filed those away for a cooler day and continued climbing until she reached the top.

"Well you two look comfy," she said with a grin as she crested the lip.

Stockholm was hiding under his usual umbrella, but had taken the liberty of running a hose up the wall to fill up a large wash bucket he was sitting in. The man was positively drenched and looked all the happier for it. Across from him, Chatterbox sat draped over the railing with her feet dangling off the edge. For all the world she appeared to be melting. Moira had given her a paper parasol earlier that day and the girl had now thrust it down the back of her shirt to keep it in place.

Shifting with a splash, Stockholm glanced over. "Howdy, Moira. What brings your to our corner of the sun?"

"Oh you know, just here to force someone to get out of the heat is all," she said with a cheery grin before sitting down with her legs on either side of Chatterbox. She lifted the parasol up so it would shade both of them and swung her feet off the edge like the girl.

"And I take it I'm not the lucky someone?" the sniper asked.

Moira snorted. "Of course not, silly! I'm talking about Chatterbox," she replied, the sarcasm completely lost on her.

For her part, Chatterbox didn't move a muscle, just stayed staring with deep frown etched on her face for all the world looking the picture of stubborn misery.

Tugging around her midsection to dislodge the girl from the railing, Moira said, "The burnt ruins of Tenpenny Tower will still be there tomorrow." She stood and lifted Chatterbox with her. The heat deadened child didn't put up much of a fight, but kept staring nonetheless.

"You taking my assistant?" Stockholm called as Moira started back the ground. He glanced over his shoulder to see that they'd already disappeared and he settled deeper into his tub. "That's okay. She was just looking one way anyhow."

Moira hit the ground with a hop, wiggling her toes in the dust. She set Chatterbox down and handed the parasol back to her. Chatterbox immediately went about trying to stick it back down her shirt. Moira caught the lip of it though and remarked, "Maybe hold it for now." She stopped thoughtfully, a finger tapping the side of her chin. "Though I bet we could fashion some sort of headgear to hold it."

"I think that's called a hat, Moira," a deep voice from behind them called.

The two turned to see Simms walking up. He tipped the wide brim of his cowboy hat in greeting and pointed to it. "Head umbrella enough for me," he quipped. The sheriff, like the rest of the town, was feeling the heat and had opted to leave his Regulator duster at home. It was either that or pass out from heat stroke.

"Hello, Lucas," Moira said, waving brightly. Chatterbox gripped the lip of her parasol with two fingers and tipped it to Simms in a mimicked greeting. Simms smirked at the imitation and lightly snorted as Chatterbox tugged her scarf up and grinned from behind it.

"You two running away from the heat?" the sheriff asked.

Nodding, Moira answered, "Yep just came to fetch Chatterbox. Might stop off at the geyser on the way."

At the mention of the brand new "fountain" Billy had created, Chatterbox jumped up with glee even as Simms massaged his brow.

"Don't remind me. I'm not entirely looking forward to the swamp Harden is going to drag in with him."

"Not a fan of the water?" Moira asked with a laugh. Above them a muffled curse could be heard, but neither Moira nor Simms noticed while Chatterbox glanced up quizzically.

As she hopped a step away from the adults, Simms continued to talk, "Never have been, never will. It's for drinking and bathing, don't need much more than that."

Then the water from Stockholm's tub came crashing down over his and Moira's head, followed a moment later by the tub itself crashing down next to them.

Simms sputtered his lip as his now damp hat sagged over his eyes. Next to him, Moira stood happily with her hands on her hips and strands of sopping hair covering her eyes. Chatterbox was doubled over with silent guffaws and gasps as she giggled uncontrollably.

"SIMMS!" Stockholm shouted from up high.

Wiping a hand across his face, Simms tilted his head up. "WHAT IN THE FIERY INFERNOS OF HELL ARE YOU PLAYING AT!?"

"Commotion outside the gate," Stockholm hollered back.

Simms looked like he was going to shout back once more, but bit whatever choice words he had in mind back and spun around. One hand snatched his hat from his head to shake out, even as the other punched the bright red button to open the gate.

"Gonna kill Rory, whatever's happening," the sheriff muttered darkly under his breath. While he'd adjusted to the shanty town's seeming permanence, he wasn't happy about it. Earlier that day Moira had already run a pipe out the wall for the residents of the shanty town. Which was plenty in Simm's book. So whatever they needed now was going to get a harsh no.

The gate creaked open with the sound of straining rivets and slowly lifted from the ground, letting in a hot breeze from outside the wall as it did. Simms blinked his eyes against the Wasteland sunlight to get them to adjust.

A handful of former slaves were clustered around the entrance, but none were looking at him. They all had their backs turned in fact, only glancing over as Simms pushed past them.

"Alright, alright, what the hell's the trouble out here?" he growled. "Somebody better be dead or dying."

"Well not quite either of those actually, sheriff. And I'd appreciate if cool heads could keep it that way," a soft voice answered.

Simms stiffened at the sound of it. He knew that voice. Roughly shoving the last few bodies out of his way, he saw him.

Burke.

The sly bastard sat before him, atop a rock. Though the immaculately dressed prick was a bit battered. His suit jacket was missing and his shirt was stained by blood, sweat, and soot. His sunglasses were gone as well, but from the cuts around his eyes, Simms surmised he'd been wearing them and been hit in the face.

Simms' revolver was out in a flash and leveled at Burke's head.

"And this is what I meant about cooler heads," Burke said coolly. "And keeping mine of course."

Simms pulled the hammer back. "You tried to blow up my town."

"But I didn't," Burke replied, unfazed by the gun in his face. Unsteadily he leaned forward off the boulder and fell to his knees with a hiss. Simms noticed one of his pant legs was torn and a large, shiny burn was now pressed to the sand.

"I'm on the side of angels now. I'd like to keep your town in one piece." Burke held his hands out to his sides. "You don't trust me, Simms. I deserve that. But trust me to save myself."

Simms stepped forward, pressing the barrel of the revolver under the brim of his fedora. And he held it, his eyes locked with Burke's trying to read the man.

He was scum. A liar through and through. He never did anything that didn't serve himself. Ever.

Burke breathed a sigh of relief as Simms released the hammer on the revolver. "Thank you, Simms, I swear you're making the right choice-"

He was cut off as Simms wrapped his fingers around his throat and bodily lifted the slender man up. "Let's make something clear, Burke," Simms growled through grit teeth. "I don't like you and the minute I don't like something you say, it's a bullet. You lie to me, a bullet. You speak when I have not spoken to you, a bullet. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Burke gasped around Simms fingers, gasping with relief as they left his throat only to be wrapped around his arm.

"Let's go," Simms said with a sharp pull on Burke's arm, dragging the man back towards the gate.

"Sheriff," a voice cried. "Sheriff, wait!" Simms didn't slow as Rory MacLaren ran up next to them. "What's going on, Sheriff? What's happening?"

"Don't know."

Rory kept up in exasperation. "Do we need to be worried? Is this about Tenpenny Tower? Who is this guy?"

Simms crossed the threshold into Megaton and turned to push Rory back. "I don't know, MacLaren. I don't know." He smashed the button to the gate again.

Rory slapped the gate in irritation as it lowered. "Oh sure, yeah, take him inside the walls. That's real great, Simms!"

On the far side, if Simms heard the barbed cry, he pretended not to hear it. He had the much more pressing issue to deal with. Getting Burke from hear to his office. It wasn't common knowledge that Burke had been looking for someone to detonate the Megaton bomb, but everyone knew he'd been run out of town. Simms would prefer to not answer the inevitable questions about why he was back.

"What happened outside? Is everything o- MR. BURKE!?"

Simms sighed and wrenched Burke forward another step as Moira walked up, Chatterbox in tow. Moira stood speechless at the sight of the bloodied Burke who nodded silently in greeting, still observing Simms' rules. Not that his silence mattered, the damage was done. Stockholm's head shot out from above and Simms could see people stop on the catwalks across the way as well.

Moira, Stockholm, everybody. They all did the same thing. Stare at Burke. And then stare at him, looking for answers. Everybody, but Chatterbox. She stared at Burke, then back the way he came.

* * *

Chatterbox sat with her dogs on one of the lowest catwalks which was still a good ten feet above the ground. And she watched, refusing to look away even as her dogs kept trying to escape, she pulled them back without breaking her sightline.

The town of Megaton stood assembled beneath her in front of the Brass Lantern. Much like the night she'd arrived, except this time it was for the man Simms had brought in. She'd heard people whispering about him. Burke they said. Burke was his name.

She did not like Burke.

Because Burke wasn't real.

Every word he said, every statement was a lie. None of it real. She was used to following two different conversations. What people said and what they meant. Their faces always told the real story of how they felt. A crinkling of the nose, lifting of the eyelid. That's the language she spoke.

Burke was lying in her language and that... that she did not like.

People could say whatever they wanted, but their faces told the truth. She'd watch Simms upper eyelids raise a touch when he liked her imitation even if he frowned and harrumphed. She knew who Moira disliked by the twitch of her nose and lip even as the inventor smiled and talked away with a customer. But Burke's face? Chatterbox didn't like Burke's face.

No one, _no one_ , said exactly what they meant. But according to Burke's face, every word he said was exactly what he meant to his core. She didn't trust that, so she sat and she watched and she listened.

"The hell're you doing here, Burke?" Simms asked loudly, spitting the man's name out like a curse. Around him the townsfolk of Megaton stood gathered, eagerly awaiting an answer.

"Maybe, Sheriff," Burke started, shifting in his chair and wincing as the motion caused some unseen injury to strain. "Maybe you would prefer to make this conversation private?"

Simms planted his hands on his hips and shrugged his massive shoulders. "No, no I don't think I would like that." He motioned with a hand at the assembled crowd. "These fine and decent people have a right to know and decide why we should let a piece of shit like you in."

Burke tried to get comfortable in his seat, once more a flash of discomfort on his face. "Of course, Sheriff." He looked at the people in the square, his eyes pausing once on the deactivated bomb. "They do have that right." Burke's eyes flicked back to Simms and held his gaze. "And the right to hear about the army of raiders marching across the Wasteland."

His words set a ripple throughout the people. Quiet voices began to whisper in shock and interest. Chatterbox leaned forward from her perch, her frown deepening. Simms shushed the crowd and took a step towards Burke. He grabbed a chair and swung it around so he could sit facing Burke. He also pulled his revolver out again and laid it on his lap.

"Talk."

The simple instruction was enough for Burke, who paused his fidgeting, and glanced at the gun. "I take it you all heard the fireworks two nights ago?" Silence met his question. "The explosions? Anyone?"

"We heard, Burke," Simms answered quietly, his tone urging Burke to continue lest there be violence.

"Well that was my home burning, Sheriff," Burke said to Simms. "That was my home being attacked along with those living there," he said, his voice louder for the crowd to hear. He struggled to rise, once more wincing as he stretched his left side. But he didn't stop, he struggled to his feet to address the crowd.

"Think what you will of Tenpenny Tower and its residents," he said, eyes sweeping the crowd as people frowned with distaste. "The Tower is well guarded, well fortified, and decidedly not an easy target. Well all of that is ashes now." One of his knees faltered, but he kept himself standing.

"What. Happened."

Burke's eyes fell to Simms once more. The sheriff's hand still sat on his gun, but his fingers hadn't tightened. Simms nodded at Burke to keep talking.

"Raiders, Sheriff. Raiders happened." Burke sighed. "I worked to make Tenpenny Tower secure from the Wasteland and it was. We withstood super mutant attacks, the Brotherhood Outcasts, even an Enclave patrol. Raiders were barely ever an annoyance."

Burke turned to the side, lifting a hand to massage his lower face. "Evergreen Mills is what happened."

Once again, like the first time Burke mentioned raiders, a shudder went through the crowd. Everyone present knew of Evergreen Mills, the raider haven to southwest. With our hierarchy based on brutality and greed the former mill was a homeland for the scum and murderers of the Wasteland. For any of those who flew under a raider flag, Evergreen Mills was a home, a supply depot, a safe place from retribution, whatever they needed. And for everyone else, it was several steps passed the grave.

"They sent an attack party?" Simms asked.

Snorting, Burke turned back, shaking his head. "An attack party? Heavens no, sheriff." He paused and locked eyes with Simms. "They sent everyone."

Simms stilled in his chair and the crowd behind him grew quiet. "What do you mean 'everyone'? What bands attacked?"

"You don't get it, Simms!" Burke shouted, whirling and throwing his hands up to his face before being forced to drop them again in pain, clutching his side. He turned back around, his eyes forlorn. "They didn't just attack, this wasn't a raid. Evergreen Mills went to war."

Burke's proclamation froze the air into a pregnant silence before the crowd erupted into shouting as everyone began to yell and panic and cry out for answers. Simms stood to his feet, knocking over his chair as he turned on the crowd.

"QUIET!" he hollered. "THERE WILL BE QUIET!" He fired his revolver in the air twice, the blasts cutting through the frantic noise, drawing everyone to a silence. "All of you," he said, addressing the crowd. "Quiet." He spun, pointing at Burke. "And you, going to war. What does that mean? War with who?"

A light snort fell from Burke's nose, but there was no mirth in it. He shook his head. "They went to war with her. He looked up and straightened so he was standing tall. "The went war with the very reason why they'll be coming here next." A stain of bright red blossomed under Burke's shirt as the injury he'd been favoring opened. Burke's voice was weak as he started to topple forward, his eyes fluttering. Everyone in the square still heard him.

"They went to war with the Lone Wanderer."

Simms caught Burke as he fell, the briefly stilled chaos erupting once more as the man feinted. Moriarty started crowing about how he knew, the Stahl's started yelling, Billy Creel grabbed Maggie and held her close to his chest.

"Church! CHURCH! Give me a fucking hand," Simms shouted as he tried to haul the unconscious Burke up, but the crowd kept pressing in, shouting and demanding more answers.

Doc Church managed to muscle his way forward, but it wasn't until Simms fired his gun in the air again, were they able to drag Burke clear of the mob. Everyone was yelling after them as they carried Burke toward Church's clinic.

Tables were overturned as they pressed after them, hot on their heels until the door was slammed in their faces. Then they started hammering on the door, their fists echoing their cries.

"What did he mean the Lone Wanderer?"

"Where was she?"

"Why was Evergreen Mills after her?"

The panic and fear held their voices loud and fueled their anger, refusing to be abated, they needed to know more.

"Lucas Simms, you get out here and tell us-"

Andy Stahl's shouting was cut off as Simms slammed Church's door open. He opened it straight through the young man, knocking him back into the crowd. The sheriff bristled with anger, his hands busy reloading his revolver.

"You saw as well as I did, the man is out." He clacked his revolver shut. "And I won't tolerate a lynch mob of the only man who knows these answers." The click of the hammer punctuated his statement as he held the gun up. "Now... I need a few things from you fine folks. I need three men to bolster the watch. I need someone to start checking stockpiles. And I need the rest of you to calm the fuck down and go home. _Right. Now._ "

The town of Megaton stood staring down their sheriff and mayor as held his gun on them. The weariness from the day's heat had been driven away in the panic and now it looked like not even the threat of violence would be able to silence it. Not when the crowd were many and Simms was one.

"I'll go on watch."

Everyone turned as one to see Eastwood standing next to Moira. The mercenary had never once volunteered his services to the town outside of what Moira bid him to do, but he stood, arms crossed and eyes boring into the mob as if daring anyone to disagree with him.

The tension wavered as Eastwood unslung his rifle and drew the bolt back with a sharp clack. "Anyone coming with me?"

The people of Megaton stood on the brink, pinned between the two men. Andy Stahl looked like he was going to continue, but Leo caught his shoulder. "Andy and I will go on watch," he said, his quiet voice raised just enough to be heard.

And that was it. The crowd started to drift a little looser. Manya Vargas raised her hand to check the stockpile and with her husband in tow started for the armory.

"And the rest of you?" Simms asked, eyeing the few remaining stragglers until they dissipated until only one remained, her hands clenching and unclenching in her dirty blue scarf.

Simms lowered his pistol and stepped down off of Doc Church's steps. "Everything's alright, Chatterbox," Simms said, taking a knee in front of the girl. "It's alright."

Her eyes narrowed as he spoke the lie, her disbelief evident on her face. Simms sighed and with a groan rose from the ground, but Chatterbox caught his hand briefly before dashing away.

Simms glanced down at his palm and the torn piece of paper. It looked like it had been ripped from a comic book. On it was suited man in a fedora. An X had been scribbled across his face and in shaky writing under it, the E backwards, was a single word.

L-I-E.


End file.
